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Sonnet 51 'When I Feel Lonely and I Can Write Naught'
When I feel lonely and I can write naught,
I sit down and I just begin to write…
Tea-water I’ve put on boils in the pot
And I can’t ‘get there’, not really… not quite…
And so, I fill the air with empty words,
Reflecting all the emptiness I feel.
I really do not think that I am bored…
Sometimes I endlessly watch endless reels
Of tripe – sometimes the tripe is really good!
I’ll never eat an okra or chitlins
Those never seemed to me, to be my food
But I like chicharrones, and wheat-middlings
This weary tale must now come to an end,
Your grace, I beg, for making your ears bend!
Copyright ©
Andrew Fairchild
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