still working on the leftovers of
Beethoven's ode an die freude -
the miniaturißed aversion
of the la Marseillaise...
   or the slav'sya, otechestvo
      nashe svobodnoye...
or....
   the british grenadiers'
                         fife and drum

and all that Shakespeare
begot the most unfulfilling
    "nowhere", i.e. now,
with the one song, sang,
on the first counts of a new
year's even, written
by a Pict... namely?
Auld Lang Syne...
   you know it by heart...
the Shakespeare bit?
  you sorta know it...
when prompted...
all that knowledge...
fudged inside y'er heads...
and the best you can do...
is test it over a trivia
television game-show...
rather than bashing it out
on a blank of paper...
such a shame...

  it really is.

rattle the shackles,
root for the cry from within
the caging ribs,
a heart,
aloft from mind;

for only a heart aloft from
mind,
when the chest, does indeed
collapse,
on a choking feud of emotions...
till then, i bid you
a farewell...
bound to an easily swayed
mind,
and emotions, not worth being
felt.