Nine, nine, nine

 Hello Dear Reader,

Here is a morning poem for you...

Oh Nine, nine, nine

what a bum?

hold the line,

give what's mine!

needles to say..

the things I rhyme 

don't interline

I prefer sunshine

over a deadline.

Imagine, 

we combine,

in my shrine..

Thine spine

change your timeline..

It's an innershine

so divine.

My medicine 

we met in casino woodbine.

Followed the shoreline

of my headline.

I got in line

and drunk the wine

of the nectarine,

divine...

Oh Nine, nine, nine

What a bum?

hold the line,

give what's mine!

things I rhyme 

outshine like a moonshine.

read in confine

by an unknown figurine!

It's a guideline

which discipline

inner semi-divine.

Move your serpentine,

fire up your crystalline.

Come meet divine!

In the sill of your sightline

hides a portal of illumine...

                    King H. Ironson

(Image: Merlin Lightpainting)