Lorded By Rings
Seventy-nine and counting now:
I’ve got a little streak
continuing to close my rings;
obsession’s not yet peaked.
My wife says that I am possessed
by My Precious new watch,
that I’ve surpassed that Smeagol lad,
taken it up a notch.
But it’s no worse than poetry;
in fact, they’re both a win:
the one keeps dementia at bay,
the other keeps me thin.
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