Many of my days I write satire.
When my nerves are frayed down to live wire.
Other days I am scribe to the heart.
Imagining a love á la carte.
Yes, though not often, I’ve written rage.
Smeared bloody anger across my page.
Penultimately, I do opine.
Acerbic wit strained thru gallows pride.
From my first word…to future’s long tooth.
Between first line & last…there lived truth.
L.B.Stowe 