Poetry Challenge Day 347 (Fri Sep 16)
I guess that’s what you have to call this.
Our River Guide read us a poem
as we waited for the Helo to evacuate
two of our party.
(That’s another story.)
The poem was “The Ballad of Belle Zabor.”
The poem goes on for pages and pages
(the Helo was delayed).
Four lines per stanza
rhyming in alternate lines,
first and third, second and fourth, like so:
“Far beneath the rim of this canyon grim
Speeds a river wrought with woes.
And the shadows are deep, and the light is dim
Where the wild water froths and flows.”
…No thank you,
not my cup of tea,
just the thought makes me blue,
way beyond my capacity.
I’ll stick with my non-rhyming, odd sounding words
that pass (at least in my own mind) as poetry.