![grayscale photography of cemetery](https://luke22.vivaldi.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/22749/2023/02/aqkvtzm6equ-1-1024x683.jpg)
I dedicate this humble verse to Saint David patron of poems,
whose beating heart rhymes with mine.
Perhaps I should dedicate this next line to Antony of Padua,
the saint of lost things like this poem that wanders.
As a student I would be remiss to leave off Saint Ambrosia
the saint of all who long to learn, but with my track record,
I should probably add Saint Jude the saint of desperate situations.
I’m sure those two are friends by now since they so often go together.
If I make it through this semester, Saint Dympna would be a more
fitting saint to accept my mad ravings, but if I don’t make it,
my family will have to dedicate a few lines in stone to
Saint Joseph of Arimathea and Saint Antony the Abbot.
“Here lies a lost ‘poet.’
His heart died for want of rhyme,
And though these lines don’t show it,
The addiction he swore off… except for this last time.”
![W.B. Yeats tombstone beside tombstones](https://luke22.vivaldi.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/22749/2023/02/gsjzbum7uoy-edited.jpg)
This poem is heavy on irony as I don’t subscribe to the idea of patron saints in general but it was a prompt in a poetry class. I broke into rhyme despite my best efforts and later took the ending to write an entirely different poem, “Broken Rhyme’s Epitaph.”