You're an idiot, he said.
You would be absolutely right, I replied.
You're bonkers, he said.
What? Who? Me? I mocked him.
You're loony, off your rocker, he said.
Yup. That's me.
He's the discontent man
That has to deal with my
Antics, God bless him so.
Poor bloke.
YOU ARE READING
At the End of All Things
PoetryMoons and suns rise and dip Below the horizon Yet still life flows onward In all of its glory Icy winter crowned in Mistletoe and holly and frost, Bound in crystalline perfection, Tender spring, sweetly singing Seductive in its melodies, Beckoning w...
