Like him, I don’t say much,
but in writing, I chatter and prattle,
word bloat and fat, like well fed cattle,
the cure he didn’t find, the endless rattle,
mind bend, mind broke, bludgeoned in battle.
How many a man loses this fight,
how many a father with sleepless nights,
how many lay idle, and out of sight,
dormant in quiet, you’d know not their plight.
W.E.
lonerloaner 