Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Sat around

the circular table, tomorrow

set aside, your cheeks flush

in laughter, a smile like

your namesake in bloom

sweeps the cobwebs from

my mind

when even the poets

pen becomes rooted in its

grooves, and the exile, beset

like Babel shirks his load,

the willow yet sheds its

leaves and the river

carries along

its way