Poem on Fedora

I shall tell you about Fedora next,

Nothing there was constant, valley or the crest.

I stood there, in a narrow lane,

At one point experiencing sun, snow and rain.

Illusional, I could call the city

Or delusional, myself.


Then I happened to meet the globes,

Alone in an empty room, through their lens.

The city veiled in mystery, started to make sense,

A finicky, aged prince, who altered,

Very frequently his long robes,

Every change being painted and framed.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s