On the Rock (Singular)
In all the wide river there sits a rock
With your name engraved upon it.
It looks like something you couldn't hit
Unless you'd a bee in your bonnet
To hit the thing with canoe and paddle.
Intentionally and even in that case,
With such a tiny and singular target,
And the river moving apace,
What are the chances you'd run straight in
Lift your bow clean out of the water.
And be left to the mirth of passing canoers
And the scorn of geese, ducks and an otter.
© 2019 by Tom King
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