Let's Rhyme
Over verdant foothills, I often climb.
Through orchards of fragrant lemon and lime.
where the frosty air has a cooler clime
and valley views are stunningly sublime.
I hear church bells ringing. Their echoes chime,
calling me to write lyrics like Sondheim.
Every melody filled with words that rhyme
and those who can't sing, mouthed in pantomime.
Autumn's golden landscape is in its prime.
Seasonal changes are a paradigm.
Soon, snow will be falling and that's what I'm
waiting for; the beauty of wintertime.
On my way home, I'll stop and pick wild thyme.
I wouldn't think that's considered a crime.
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