Do I in written destitute cage
Trombone my heartbeat’s rhythmic race
In plight of the simple or turn the page
And serve my sentence in time’s embrace

Do I explain my fortitude demeanor
Or leave the resting sleeping sage
Left to birdsong whose traveling tweeter
To tell my tale in nights’ gales’ rage
 
Of how once was left a mere towering stone
Carved on its breast my name did adorn
And the rules that were laid how daily I did mourn
The siren ocean’s shore and Poet’s wine were torn

And that such was the nature of the stars as laid out
And solemn was the guilt when first spoken out loud
Where an echo of which etched in black on sky’s cloud
Revealed indeed the truth but only brief did it sprout

So do I as I dip pen’s ink into dew drop
And flower the morning’s mist into page
In plight of the simple or turn time’s embrace
Trombone my love’s heartbeat to embellish my cage