Pieces and species and soul-holes of mine All gathered in a place or another sometime The write is the spout that my soul sifts on out If I only I had a backbone, I’d clamor and shout
But this is not me at least most of the time We used to say if you care just dropp a quick line But things have all changed we must have meaning profound If not, then store it in your gut and let it churn all around
But sooner or later it all must come up The bile and vile and senile can’t show I am smitten unless written and brought up, oh how I know Thank God this outlet serves as my emotional flow.
To judge is not thinkable for those with my plight To be judged is OK if those judging are always right But a simpleton keeps trudging the road of the free And learn from the arrows that find a bull’s-eye in me.