Bad Poetry

Honeysuckle Afternoons


May fair,
and fair it may be,
sweet honeysuckle afternoons of youth.
Released at last from school day's toils,
gushing forth from every door,
 a climax to the day.

Greeted by the unfolding promise of azure sky.
And to the bike rack ever so quickly.

 The promise of freedom, speed, and motion.
Scented all by the sweet smells of honeysuckle twined along the fenceline of the drive.