On this space,

A drop fell,

From rhyton’s,

Wishing well.

Libation,

Plus hope’s pleas,

Up-sprouted,

Bloom for bees.

Now petals’,

Imbibed light,

Reflects hues,

As sight white. ; )

This feels alien. In this tagged presence, I wish I could, instead, homophone home. Gifts lie unwrapped by Christmas tree, yet here I am with only parklet’s toyon to see. Strange how rain can chill more than snow and how echoed lights can leave the heart feeling distanced. Maybe my connection to merry will happen on the morrow—after this setback of sorrow. ; )

Sometimes life will only extend exostosis to our fragile frame, but every now and then, it likes a two-nine-ten, where symbiosis of foundation and germination do find fame. ; )

Pink waves,

As a perpetual phrase,

Stays.

Palilalia stares?

Patience shares

Empathy’s wares.

For through repitition,

Comes learned condition,

Of a welcome edition. ; )

“Quack!” quipped the duck, homing in on his friend’s literal-not-metaphorical swan song.

“Thwack!” swung the swan, handing holming to his friend’s belated-not-hated duck dive. ; )