That's why.
That's seems to be why I'm ******* all the time,
there usually is very little at the end of the road to be had.
I haven't felt so bad in winter wear,
but winter's here and now heat is what I've got to make
a part of my life.
Bearable things are what turn strife into fun.
Making runs onto lakes and fields.
I try to make the words sound like real leaves on puddle piles
Endearing doves mourn duck rapes, wild berry patches, thistle thatches.
So, twirling into a spiral.
Sinking into cones.
Pine trees stay sticky,
and climbing the big ones gets me home.