“FEEBLEMINDED”

This is the end of the mind, as I know it,

Feeble, with a touch of insanity to add spice a bit,

Not too feeble not to walk and talk,

But enough to find walking and talking to be less than a hit.

Ah, the mind of the feeble people,

Has little distance to go to become truly coo-coo,

So driving them nuts, would be a considerably short ride,

Not even long enough to close the door on either side.

Am I ranting or raving here this night, entering into morning?

Or should I just take out my favorite jacket from my wardrobe?

That of the one with the rear zipper,

Placed on me by the little men in white,

Or is it the men in their little white coats?

Does it truly matter in the end all of things,

I don’t think it does unless of course it is spring,

For in the spring, flowers bloom,

And the cannons, they go boom,

And all the grooms come out in their spring dress,

Is it the groom that wears the dress or…?

Anyway, as it is only winter,

And the flowers and cannons are lying dormant,

I can only find myself to be that of a doormat,

In the huge world of insanity & feeble rats…

                                                            (ed)