Monday, January 23, 2017


In offering up prosody, I do
But little, I well know. I greatly rue
That the small offerings that I make through
The bits of verse with most mornings,
Whether they're complaints or dire warnings,
Do next to nothing easing the great churnings
In which we find ourselves most every day.
I know they've small effect, but I've no way
To do a better thing or better say
Such things as I think others could well hear.
I know it, and I go throughout the year
Putting pixels on the screens to clear
My conscience. At least I do but little ill,
Unlike some others, taken by foul will.

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