B

In search of B, I set off for thee

Through chasms of wrinkled brows

What task is this that disturbs my bliss

Seeking this holy cow?

What demented mind, devoid of kind

Could enslave to me to such a task?

A soliloquy about a B

Is really too much to ask

So threw this mire, fuelled by desire

I’ll push this pen in haste

Is B a clue to let me through

Beyond those Pearly Gates?

My mind drifts back to early morn

When first those words were spoken

If you care, you’ll take the dare

To wrest the B and give it as a token

So on I plod, this lowly sod

Hungering for diversion

Blasted, blessed, beautiful B

Methinks you art perversion

© Fred Pentney

This poem was written in response to a request by a person whose first name began with B, for a poem or ‘something’ to be written about her.