True Blue

 
The ocean breakers roil and roll
A never ending pace,
Assume the surf itself a soul
In search a final place.
The west wind waffles where it will,
Wafting this way, then that,
As if it too in love until,
Some sibyl flirts a chat.
Waning, willing far too soon
To give the sun its say,
A restless wind, no song to croon,
A suitor yields the day.
Red regal Sol is faithless too,
Sometimes he’s gone for weeks,
As if daylight would be untrue
New love, it elsewhere seeks.
Gray misty rain attests it's true,
At morning, noon or night,
Favorite color, moody blue,
Its brush abounds with blight.


--Fr. Veni di Morte

 

 

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