An Epistle

With many vocables,

He formed many locutions.

Ah! His fervour,

Danced above his peeper,

Like those teeny-weeny bubbles.

 

In the epistle,

Figures were few.

But a lie-in,

With his sister he drew.

The words inscribed,

Were very sweet.

And those emotions,

As vibrant as

The colour of the beet.

 

He penned,

Those adorbs jiffy.

Be it the

Tongue-in-cheek tittle-tattle,

Or those brawls,

They couldn't settle.

 

Covering those boisterous times,

He put his ammased emotions,

Like a poem with rhymes.

Yet! He never

Posted the epistle,

Neither tied it

With a sisal.

 

Sigh! He had no siblings,

Someone who would always,

Stand as the healing.

Yet! The epistle

For his tacit sister,

That he wrote,

Floated!!!

Away from the horizon,

Like an anonymous boat.