In a fog,

Tripped on a log,

Sunk to my hips in a bog,

Never again in a storm will I jog…

Can’t see a hundred yards,

This fella that yearns to be a bard,

Round and round we go, passed that tree before,

I can tell cause it is quite scarred…

Not certain of anything,

To sanity I am trying to cling,

Fearful of fear, scared of being scared,

Maybe I should just stop and wait for spring…?

Don’t follow me oh masses and minions,

My being losted brings on many opinions,

Wish I did not into the wilderness trek,

Should have stayed on my boat,

Safety I find on the aft poop deck…J

© ed ~ 3/24/06