Across the Sky

The garden patch afloat with Insy-bettaroots was fully grown yet barely touched my boots across the sky a kite flew high I liked it, I won't lie Where once a troubadour sprang forth with all his poetry of worth a stadium pole stood straight but held no stamin-weight That countryseat of sweet abode that once was frizzled with agoad lay baren like a dessert pitch enpoorened, no not rich The troubadour of valor I once knew forsook all colors except blue he plucked his very last then left the grounds, aghast.