In the Sunset of Dawn

Indulge my farce,

Oh dear mirror—

And bald my contortions,

—with the grin of a scorned belle.

Whatnot be I, trust I pray thee,

Never once was. I swear.

Such is the fleeting memory,

—of days fast gone into nights.

And sorry nights gone by so fast.

The past is fogged. Buried.

A blissful teenage angst, isn't it?

                     

Flying High

“Fly, will your career,

High with aviation, Nairobi?

So bold they held. And so it did,

So high fly it fled.