With Tender Excursions And Sick Review Poem by Saul McCandless

With tender excursions and sick review
I plod aloof and to anew
Take refuge in my younglings aim
To rise and seek my winning game

I am with fawns, as deadly shots
Come gather your distance, soon forgot
My afflictions are not be known
Divulge the sincerest of what is shown

I am what I can and could and would be
A monolith of charity, so keen and free
To avoid her lying tongue and lips
Waste not the wine and bend and slip

My Mother knew what was coming forth
Told me, “son, why not explore up North? ”
I can but wait my eagerest turn
To watch unfold, her bedtimes to burn.