Mosquito bites and daffodils

Yesterday I saw a sunset
and decided to write it for you.
I thought if I slaved and bled over my words,
I could make you feel my moment
and maybe shed a tear.

I sat down with my self-inspired mind
lest someone come and ruin
my picturesque moment for you.
But I forgot how to spell picturesque
and had to take the time to take the
paper to the printer’s mouth to spit this out.

Then the sun disappeared behind the fence
that’s protecting the yard’s planted petunias
from the woods’ wild daffodils.
So my task then became to tell you
of moonlight
and I saw it striking your fancy
putting a glint in your eyes
for me
and my ways

of making the night’s light gleam
on rippled water.

But clouds covered
the moon and the only
light shining
was that of the orange street lamp
casting a glow
on the neighborhood bugs
and making me remember the mosquito
biting me behind the ear.

This poem was written in the late 90s.



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