Two brief poems
“Whirr Part Two” by yours truly
The wind continues to whirr.
“Would it were…” a buddy in high school joked
Quoting some translation of Ancient Greek.
“Were, when, how, who…and why?”
“Would it were…” but it was (were) not always her.
Whirr.
“Left” by yours truly
Burnt my right thumb twice in my oven;
Feels like being stalked by a coven.
It only works on broil.
Should faster recoil.
So, have to use the left hand more now.
Sometimes feel “Left Out,”
Like the childhood joke about a fictional baseball outfielder position.
What’s left?
Bereft.