Poem Lost

The bard had just penned a ballad profound and stroking his beard, this clumsy word-hound just spilled his last beer on pages unbound. A marvelous monorhyme sits uncrowned. Deluged under streams of thoughts that still hound, I venture to guess the piece has just drowned from rainclouds of doubt with thunderous sound from faraway lightning seeking a ground, Now mopping up foam, he waits to impound damp shadowy reservoirs which redound to poetic skill reserved and renowned, concealed in debris, its burial mound. Like nebulous chords which cannot be found his poem is lost with drinks he just downed. Can there be a way to use ultrasound to track fickle brainstorms flitting around? written April 5, 2012, revised August 17, 2021 Contest: Your Best Monorhyme, Host: William Kekaula