There was a poem I meant to write
Just the other day,
But I can’t for the life of me
Remember what it’d say.

I can’t shake the frustrating feeling
That its words would carry weight,
Because of course what I meant to say
Had words that couldn’t wait

Except, of course, to wait for me
To go about my day,
And lay the grounds to annoy myself
By delaying what I had to say.

So I’ll sit and ignore
The taunt of an outside-tease
As it tries to bring me back
To presence with the breeze.

 

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