There’s a purple donkey in the sky,
Scared, lonely, happy and high.
Wandering amongst fluffy white clouds,
Forever seeking validation, of inconsequential crowds.
There’s that purple donkey, now prancing about,
Sad and disgusting, but typically upbeat-and loud.
Zhe speaks of words and metaphors that inspire,
Which sound like wet, sodden dregs of an ill conceived fire.
Tales from the past do rarely make sense,
As they belong to a different time, and a forgotten tense.
And then there are, the self-confessed, book-fiend junkies,
Who will seek and find meaning, in verses about purple donkeys.
What a world…
_V. 12/01/2018
Righting Writing 