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Melancholia

Idle like a lost rusted old silver needle
Meddle in the hallow winds so feeble
Not knowing the answer to the riddle
Feign is this heart daunted by hurdles

Fumble I must have to find my refuge
Daily acting in a survivor subterfuge

Grey meadows beneath my feet humble
Tumble I fear I may if not while away
With sandstorms thro' my soul I tremble
Throes they are, they fade one by a day

Foes they come friends they pretend
Thorns they be, that bleed my woes
Be they worst and vile yet I intend
To trample them beneath my toes
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
who better to bring joy into ones life but for one. life is filled with grief unending unless you make merry and fill those days with joy. friend is a foe and foe is your friend. Happiness comes from the heart not the mind as your hustle and bustle under this great sun is but for one thing, to be happy.
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4/16/2021 6:29:06 PM # 1.0.0.559