Annie-Nonymous
A mystery, you, a child of our times,
you write of love and loss with equal flair,
flitting through rhythms and flirting with rhymes,
even your free verse is lighter than air.
Tiptoeing lightly while sharing your muse,
scattering adverbs to brighten my day,
likely as not you will bring me good news,
sprinkling nouns in your own special way.
The moon will arise, the sun fall asleep,
the world will keep spinning, as is her due,
and you shall lie content in slumber deep,
your burdens put away, your worries few.
Awake refreshed with a song in your heart,
ready and able to practice your art.
*******
Dedicated to a onetime Souper, Annie Brittle
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