No, this isn’t a poem. Sorry, folks. My muse for poetry is still asleep. I’ll wake her up as soon as I can, promise! This is…
Why I avoid the now ubiquitous Lyric I
They die, those old oneswho survived the Depression,knew hunger and struggle,who fought a desperate war,kids themselves…
In each finale, there is a start.Never such a thing as truly over.
The worldspeaks a languagebeyond translation,alluring and arcane,safe in its secrecycalling us all.
Call them the sumof all our livesnever lived.
I save upgood deedsto affordone great sin.
gravity falls
