Most people deny its charm, it's thrust aside
And labeled a trifle too hard to learn
As art is put to a tedious river ride
Fulfilling up those who'll never discern
So it sits in corners, silently neglected
Soaking in its sadness, sorrow deep within
Mocked for a language that's barely accepted
Its purpose withered away expired begin
No one will know its beauty, essence so fine
Though it may seem a shame, no solace can be
But if just one person were to drop the decline
And stand to find the poetry that's meant to be
Though they won't find Joy yet within the lines
The reward lies in their appreciation of thyme
©jamielong
J