Would that I could—

Would that I could

write pure, unadulterated poetry;

but, it is beyond me.

Far, far, beyond;

over the hills

and far, far away;

and, also, not something

that I care to do.

But, I could…

if I wanted to,

but, I do not want

to float like a cloud,

compare thee to a bee,

or charge happily

into the valley of death,

That’s so old hat,

and I am not one for old hats,

and that’s the truth –

I have the attributes of youth—

okay, so I make stuff up,

that is my cup.

Where did you think that was going?

I write this, and I had no way of knowing.

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