rhyming disease but diaries

Whenever a bee will be
The prairie's not mine to see
But inside my revery
Of clover and Emily

Whatever a pea might be
A rose is a rose to me
Piercing ears which not can plea
Linked to sacred Emily

Wherever the will to flee
Counts down to zero from three
There is a vague boundary
Between the land and the sea

As in the end the pleas get few
My revery alone must do
And the song of Doris says
What will happen next three days

Qui s'erra s'erra
Whoever goes wrong goes wrong
This is the fade of my song

(...but not for long!
Since deconstructivism tells
That words are little more than spells
Written all around some trees
And plates and shirts to please
With rhyming disease.)

(25.03.2023)
dedicated to Emily, Gertrude, and to Jay and Ray who wrote the famous song for Doris

photo: ty-ty

https://poets.org/poet/emily-dickinson

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
(Emily Dickinson)

This is "my" poem of the day. Great!