Thou art the sign much awaited—
The shaky feet to stand their own,
The sour joy to see yonder down,
But the stiff heart sorrow-twisted.
And it’s the case why ‘move’ on—
The cozy quilt disowned to flurries,
Physical buzzes, luring cherries,
Inner buzzes aloof, yonder eon.
The heavy heart paints a faint smile,
Prepared the upcoming petty messes.
Leaving muses to pre-emptive fusses,
How a mundane scrimmage to rile.
Thou art the month,
Again for this moth,
On the road so familiar,
To wade, to eddy, adrift, afar.
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