This morn ere
the beach i walked;
quiet alone
so to myself I talked.
My sounds were
not simple words;
or vacant tunes
as to entertain the birds.
But rather i rhymed
and chanted my verse
i know you`ve heard better
for i have seen worse.
I walked the beach
yet my memory did jog
A synapse went click
neurons released a cog.
There was once
Oscar an Irish gent
he came to Beauvoir
there left his spirit`s scent.
Tomorrow morn
ere i take my walk;
to Beauvoir i`ll go
and to the gentle bard
my verse I`ll talk…
...
