I read to try and gain,
nothing, nada,
undefeated I read and read
again, nothing, nada,

this could go on forever,
there’s a shed load of books
and I have only two eyes to
look within them
and I ask you,
is that fair?

you read and that leads me to the question,
what is it that the words give you and yet
not me?

I’m growing a beard in order to be as wise as
which is probably ridiculous.

If you’re thinking this is going somewhere
you are as lost as I and I.

Something in the rhyme reminds me of the
colour blush that bruised the grape that made the wine,
I’d drink it every time
if it helped me to forget.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.