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.