Narrative

Ars Poetica 
 
" Blacksheep, 
ne'er do well, 
loser, 
you're bound for hell." 
Looked down upon, 
misunderstood. 
" She's at it again." 
"She's up to no good." 
Despite these words 
there grew a flower, 
born of need, 
it speaks with power. 
Watered by tears, 
hope is its root- 
some call it poetry, 
but its real name is Truth. 
 
 
Greetings everyone from a windy South of the Border. 
This is just a little something new I wrote yesterday, 
short and simple. I will be posting some of my older 
writes for the new members to have a chance to read. 
I notice there are many of them on the site. At any rate, 
Hello to all my friends and this is just to let you know I'm 
still around. :)