Idle Fiddle Poem by John Sensele

If you could shed a tear
For things past and present
You'd feel better to lead away fear
From lives that resent

Your dissent, your will to soldier on
In the face of rat race
That grows in rows of stubborn
Obstination and frustration that trace

Origins in pins and needles
That your heart they prick
While your idle fiddles
Play loony tunes that sick

Minds find blind in a kind
Of memory you'd best bury deep
In a grave where lemon rind
Crushes events whose dates you'll never again keep.