Blithely I discover new ways to hurt you,

Of course, if I gave actions thought…

These diffident faults could be avoided,

And I promise to try…

I promise to try.


But I am a fool…

A head-space full of bricabrac,

Lofty ideals and punctured pomp,

I tread clumsily,

And I am left leisurely regretting,

My blithe spirit fatuously trumpeting,

my ignorance and banality.

Copyright Dale Beck 2018

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