Into Our Graves- We Stumble, Forever Defiant. Poem by Michael Gale

Pursuith thy dreams no matter'ith how far...
Heightened only-be it, by boat, plane, train or car.

Farness is not an obsticle, no matter what...
Only one word will fail thee, be it yet, but, but.

Dreams may yet be caught as by a rope...
Another word that may yet, cut thy hope.
Would'st yet be yet, or another (NOPE) .

Thy moonsitional breadth thusly inhaled...
Will'st gasp and gag ye, as well as imperiled as failed.

Moon's orbital path may yetly thy grasp...
Be naughtly bitten by, one poisonous asp.

Asperations left unattended, are as of an undesirable diet...
Into our graves we tumble forever defiant.