I am but a minstrel, a singer of songs.
A righter of wrongs.
And I sing to make my mistress happy.
And I sing to bring her peace.
When my voice and my lute
do not suffice,
I unsheathe my sword
And I become….
Well, actually, sort of depressed.
At being more honest
With myself –
It’s just a plastic sword
From one of the kid’s
And I don’t really have a lute, it
Was more like playing air guitar.
What did she say in therapy last week?
That for once she wanted me to take
The trash out without having to ask?
Lord I hope though
She still likes the love poems
I leave on her
Charley’s first half: Minstrel