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:
I was a prince, now king.
“Screen. Shot.” © 2018 Timothy Waugh