Foolish Fuss Poem by John Sensele

When at long last common sense
Returns her urns of sapience to your pate
Strewn with personal demons in whose defence
You've stood all along, let God bless your fate.

When at long last sanity blasts casts
Teeming with emptiness
Call on your crew to lower masts
From a ship that begets sadness.

When at long last you grow the right attitude
To throw away proclivities
To sow wild oats on a southern latitude
Consider the cider of clean activities.

When at long last you stop short of violence
Against a lass of class
Whose fault lies in her nonchalance
To kiss you on a boisterous bus.