circled myrtle

Me, slight bite, after three nights of a wee hike;

My knees, tight, for a breeze bright; a sea’s dight for meek

might.  Sky goes from blue 2 white.  But still, dark.  No

light.  Strive 4 height.  My eye, in fight.  I’ll die, no slight.

My dedication, set in station, a vet’s ovation.  Sprint

till my heart pops, won’t let the phase wine.  Dictionary

miss a nary.  Me, complete in my street’s sleet.  Underdog,

another blog.  Paper’s pate, my late slate into a wobbly

plate.  Live my life rhymed, in ideal time.  Write the

right way for my sight’s hey; reborn in a tight May.  Extract

my tact.  How will I adapt, if I’m on another form of map.

Must be a trap.  Lower flaps, for sake of flight, scribe another

collection, make my night, forsake my fight, ate my light,

retake my right; my anthem in bantam; censors, plant them

in ransom; olympian, slow dizzy when too much merlot’s in

my row; slow tow when my glow’s woe’d.  A known hone,

to thrown throne.