It's In The Journey They Say

To write this poem
I thought and thought,
I sought, I
wrought
rot.

I got squat. Here
I sit with nothing
coming
or going,
showing.

To write this poem
I moan
droan on n'on
my own,
groan.

Dawn has gone. There
is now ledge
a wedge, a
hedge
sun lit edge.


Kinda pretty.

Bending Some Rays