I’d like to write a round for you.
I’d like to have you around, too,
and try to right a wrong—
running around on you—but
I know you’re 85% completely gone
by now. By noun. The noun being
‘frown,’ and, to me, the door
you’ve shown. Rightly, I’d say.
Oh, the rites of the first of May,
and their bodies strewed in the hay.
• • •
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