The unparalleled Bob our man, a builder skilled.
Ties ropes too high, not aware of heart concern cries,
Build bridges on clouds, as rivers tilled,
A bridge flew, reaching the ninth-heaven sky.
His building, design is always methodical,
But short of very foundation indeed ridiculous,
Looks decent, and God in heavens nearly laudable,
Burn soul, and conscience with an impetus meticulous.
Bob realised his trouble, he a slave,
At the mercy of his habit of rubble,
Till the end, he bites his tongue, carve some waive,
A tale of persistence, but the bridge on clouds always trouble.
His tale is our favorite for ages, fool, daring
Heart of gold, but the bridge of cloud will always fold.
A Sonnet
Image Credit: Leonardo Ai
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An Escape
PoetryAn Escape! Not the First! I know won't be the last. But this one was fruitful. Cover Image by Toa Heftiba https://unsplash.com/@heftiba
