We were all pretty sure the sky was blue
Though no one would put it in writing
And take the risk of one day being proved wrong.
Was it so wrong not to tempt fate? So wrong
To wriggle off the hook, and not risk feeling blue
At later, maybe, having to waste time righting
A wrong easily avoidable by just not writing
Anything? It was all right, then, not to write, right? Wrong:
We had a chance to take a stand — a chance we blew:
To say, Blue; or, Not blue; be right, or wrong; and nothing riding on it.
Beyond this explanation (“The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line”) and this source (the Day 7 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net drove me to it), I have nothing to say about this poem.
Image: Nomade, by Phil Roeder, published under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0) license. I had not known before of this Jaume Plensa sculpture, which is in the Pappajohn Sculpture Park in Des Moines, Iowa. It makes me happy.