I was just a keen spectator,
Until I met a creative author,
I was dragged into the limelight,
Not knowing it’s not my delight.
I guarded my every move,
But sometimes I swing to the groove,
Ears prompted high to decibels,
Hearing words even beyond the cells.
I thought Parades were merry,
Then why is it making me chary?
The crowd is whose moat?
Appreciating which float?
The knitted crowd was bizarre,
Did I already reach the bar?
We’re they all in favor of tradition?
Then why do I feel it’s my mission?
To the author who braved,
Thanks for the sweet parade,
For until when the parade stops,
Will we be still turning tops?
Crowd be not my crown,
I have to weigh on my own,
But if the author is not on track,
How could I follow the parade back?