In Your Bad Books

The other day, for a brief moment I recalled my good old times, Where the bleakest of the panorama And an eeyorish of the memories, Invaded a hopeless hypocrite As the strength faded away, Faking the funk with brightest of looks, It took me a little while to realise That I saw my name in your bad books. Clouds were dense over the horizon I saw the hailstones coming by, When closed chapters went forthwith A short coup d’oeil of my part, I found All again in one of the ripped pages Where my effete, affected affinity Followed the longest end of the stream, I saw my name that said some story As short, as a happiest winsome dream. I let the thousand flowers bloom When I judged my story, my worth I let you judge my weakness as well Yet not aware of who I truly am I continued reading my name, my part, With tattered pages, in your bad books My hands were stiff, but not frozen, Withal I believed the words of wisdom Many are called but few are chosen. Howbeit, with time and impression Anon I learned, I learned to prevail Your concern is now apathetic Your prospect is blithely untroubled Because I was the author of my story, And not you, neither am I shaken I pray, Almighty shall bless your head, Owing to the fact, that, Halfwits Do rush in where angels fear to tread. And so here I am, The story unhooks I do not worry to give a quick glance In your bad books.