Oh, how we're drawn to temporal things,
like a fleeting voice,
or a faded picture in a frame--
which then we shape in flesh and bone,
and make the vaunted claim,
that it has touched some inner chord--
Oh what a foolish game!
Author notes
By romance I mean: dealing with idealized events remote from everyday life. It does not mean love as is the modern term.
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Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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I really like this.
It would have taken me at least 40 lines.
There's no real explanation for the type of magnetism that sets off the music and leaves logic behind.
It might be result those endorphin thingys.
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I didn't delete this one...too bad, I did delete a lot of nice ones. I mean, nice by my standards.
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You sent the other ones to "sleep with the sparrows"?
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LOL, good one! Yes, under the brush they cuddle with the sparrow. I feel kinder towards the sparrow, I put him to sleep of my own accord.
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Poor little sparrow. *sniff* I'd tell you my sparrow story but it would make you feel bad.
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You know I want to know now.
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I was a surrogate mother to two baby sparrows this past Spring. The nest spilled and the parents rejected them. I lost both of them. There, feel better?
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This is the most amazing poem!
It should be embroidered on linen and framed and put up for all to see. 
I love it so much. 
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You are both fast and good at commenting, a rare quality! I returned two for your one.
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