Counsel

Lady, I am flattered at your skill at harm Now let me see your skill to build Tearing down has certain vulgar charm My soul is but a poet's giant mill And there is nowhere I intersection find With shared values or shallow mind The poet is above reproach, others tried Before our time, and broken hearted died. Meddlers Have an inner need to mature and know The stream that passes them moving slow Carries very strong current below Respect this flow, then into the waters go. We are bothered By fanatasy of the mind, with no line between The possible and the impossible, the real Becomes what anxiety designs, hearts unclean See a world the same, and lose it in their zeal Lady, Do not die in panic because the bee can sting Enjoy its honey, learn industry there For even with fast flapping wings it will sing And pollinate flowers to blight despair.