You’re a person/place, no thing

You’re my all the songs I sing.

White dove, you, but on the wing

then, blackbird calling, Call . . .


There’s a chime; it’s you, a ding.

Playing pong and you’re the ping.

A bee, a wasp? with kindly sting:)


There is no dangling string.

Merry, merry, merry ring:

your name.

I was a prince, now king.

“Screen. Shot.” © 2018 Timothy Waugh