A little late for art,
a little weak for song,
I try my best to write,
and still it comes out wrong.
I looked within my heart,
I ate a peck of dirt.
I asked for extra light
and never shaved my shirt.
For every ancient blight
I found acoustic cure,
then shared it. Every part
of me was sound and sure.
It's late now, and the night
concludes a damaged age.
I guess I ought to start
to fill this empty page.
3 comments:
impressive!
Thank you. I receive relatively few comments from glands and organs.
you've awakened the pituitary gland, Richard. Bravo!
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