In about three week’s time,

Not long after the year

Once more be gone anew,

I shall release the fear

Without figure or rhyme –

Though without losing mine –

And untangle the vine

And its twisting sinew

To attempt to express

What I have left to guess,

I will attempt the leap,

Surrender faith to jump,

To keep face don’t undo,

For I can no more keep

This growing painful lump

That time and space plunder;

To hell with sage senses!

Be it my Waterloo,

Mine the consequences

Were I broke asunder…


Do or do not, there is no try.

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