Pegasus

Another night Pegasus flew by my window. He didn't stop to say: H". Standing in mid' air fanning his wings he said: I do not like yours, how do you call them? "Poems?" They even do not rhyme. Your English is far bellow of language of Great poets, and to be honest, even your Czech stinks. I am flying to have a tea with a real poet and she is only fifteen. In what language? I asked. He didn't answer and passed by fluttering his wings like helicopter's blades heading toward a hospital's pad. Medics are in the hurry to save another patient's live. Copyright (c) Marie neumann Pottsville, 7/1/2009