The Throne

THE THRONE In days gone by, as I recall my youth, some memories at best I find uncouth, and I'd as soon my mind forget although it surely hasn't yet, this greatest fact of life and bit of truth; there set a one room shanty old and gray, with just a path that led out to its' way just opening the only door was something of a minor chore, and once inside, the door it will not stay! There was a catalog with pages tore and on the seat, two holes with edges wore, and why, I wondered, there were two, when only one would surely do; but I've not figured out what two were for. The cracks between the boards let in the sun to think upon until your job is done, and solving lifes' complexities is best done here, where no one sees, and once inside, it's closed to everyone. The greatest fun was in the dead of night when winter's set in to its' freezing bite, the snow it falls, the wind it howls and excavation of the bowels is best done in the day, to do it right. No one has ever sat upon this throne not contemplating all the things they've known, and there should be a monument to show the world where people went to get relief, or just to be alone! © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet