My head, surf with care the maze
Where the labyrinth loses her contour
To ensnare the gullible into a daze
From which once entrapped there's no detour.
My head, tread on hallowed ground at your detriment
Unless you invite pesky palaver
To coerce chilly condiment regiment
Down your patched throat at the hands of an epitaph engraver.
My head, beware of quicksand
That swallows souses whose blinkers
By stealth of hand makes them feel grand
Although it's an illusion concealed in clinkers.
My head, steer clear of love landmines
Where twice or thrice before you bit the dust
When Wendy supplied significant signs
To warn you'd lost the ghost of her trust.
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