More Poetry by Robert R. Woods

May 14, 2o113

I have so many poems yet to post. Like I said, I've been a way awhile. This one has a rhyme scheme:

a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d.

Andromeda

There’s a stream alive beneath her fine hair

which conjures up a tyrannical fret

that pounds to mud the human living there.

With bitter tides and mossy-green regret,

death’s thought she cannot or will not forget.

Upon the shore of her dyspeptic coast

I cleanse the sorrow I bleed, cherish most,

remove the cloth and dive into her sea.

Cetus, you old millstone, protect our host,

forever we drown Love’s black memory.

—rrw o4-23-13