There is torpor in my attitude and torpor in my gait
Why o why should I then care if  get a wee bit late?

The monkey business in the latitudes is a matter you’d consign to fate
But no o no, I would dis-concur, it is but a trait innate.

Semblances appear, phantasms grow, images do inundate
And yes o yes, I dare proclaim, these are but truths incarnate.

Dreamers to the left, dreamers to the right, aimless at any rate
Gee o gee, I wonder out loud, why all are gathered at my gate?

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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