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Nonsense

Again, perhaps if there were but a way,
‘tho as it is maybe it’s just as well:
for when your tongue is tripped with come what may
quite thereupon one never can quite tell.

And then, between the whatsit and the whence
there often flies a fact that begs, beware:
’tis many long the night’s experience
and such the different sort returns from there.

But in the end, it always goes to show,
and sets itself aright with no complaint;
for despite all the blather in between

it’s really rather a small thing to know.
So trip ye merry, both sinner and saint –
the truth is only what you make it mean.

19 JAN 2003

© 2003 – 2017, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

Published inPoems

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