dangling in the elements, this talker
that has given you joy and pain
  you think in memories, such fodder 
    wondering what it is to live again


             you think of father come back
             mother and more and the drain
               life without rickrack or tack
                 and livng so much more plain


you stroke images of this force
that gave you nothing in vain
  you think back on every course
    and what it is you had to gain


             life lived short of good reason
             if not in your first plan or game
               with love and its fertile season
                 has left your poor heart lame


in time you think fondly of hell
or of a heaven ... you know fame
  and she's treated you quite well
    better than the poor guy or dame


             into whose sugared charms you fell
             take those reins back with no shame
               see what this life still has to sell
                 come sit with me, tell me your name.

                    

A Poetry Exercise: play with it, rework, rewrite it, critique it ad infinitum. Humor me. Go exercise your wit and pen.