Hindsight! blindside! attack,
weapons of mass destuction, for the soul,
hatred, accusation, indignation, and justification,
in the nth degree, came flyin right in, came suddenly.
Well, thinking, back, like I started out,
that ole hindsight is gettin, to me.
I shoulda, coulda woulda, had it been, any plainer,
It woulda bit, me.
But risk, is just, as defined, 
guarantee, is not a simile.
And when you take it, it might take you,
on a sidetrip, thru:
the aforementioned words, in line three;
but darned, if I can do it, differently.
So, I write it down, I make it rhyme, occasionally,
and somehow, just sayin it,
does a lot of good, for me. 
So particulars, we do not need,
the outcome wouldn't change, so,
we'll leave that part be.
And call, to an end, this poem, bout:
Hindsight an me.