“ The Fox ” ~ in inhuman state ~


I am the fox

Who goals survive,

Through foxy guile

And wise mind gate,

But to remain alive

Man must with haste,

Shed inhuman state

Of failing world’s fate,

He unwittingly devised!

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“ Moods ” ~ play one like a fiddle ~

You’re flying high

On a cloud

In a too blue sky,

Then suddenly low

At half past late

Land at hell’s gate,

Yet soon revert

Without you bide

To feel quite pert,

When up down ride

Now finds your mind inert…

 

Fixed on a whirlwind

Of mood swings,

This state of mind

From obsequious smile

To woebegone resign,

Wants but  loose the moods

That plays one like a fiddle!