AI
The Tastes of Solitude
The silver moon hangs cold above the dirt,
A pale and morose eye that watches all.
The Aztec kings are gone, their gold is dust,
But still the puma stalks the mountain ridge.
I sit alone and crave a simpler taste:
A crisp, white radish pulled from frozen earth,
The briny, cold umami of an oyster,
Or even ketchup on a vegetable.
My tired horse is stamping in the dark,
Waiting for the dawn to break the silence.
A pale and morose eye that watches all.
The Aztec kings are gone, their gold is dust,
But still the puma stalks the mountain ridge.
I sit alone and crave a simpler taste:
A crisp, white radish pulled from frozen earth,
The briny, cold umami of an oyster,
Or even ketchup on a vegetable.
My tired horse is stamping in the dark,
Waiting for the dawn to break the silence.
Should we try this in a different poetic meter, like a rhythmic dactylic hexameter?
