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Brass Tacks

That heart of gold I was searching for
Has passed me, bye, and found an ending elsewhere;
Chasing the sunset and the final mystery—
Grow old, die, who’s gonna cry or care?

Finest wines and vines splendid,
My only lasting loving friends.
[We’ve] some trouble down there,
With no lover to share these bends.

Harvest some words for this one empty page,
Everyone else out there chasing the latest rage.

Don’t tumble much dice, do you?
Crimes of passion outweigh the ones of neglect.
Maybe I never ought to have learned
That most things in life we all can cathect.

Refill the goblet and wipe the counter—
Whimsical droplets tell their own tale;
But you came for something more eclectic,
Not this wheeze with no secret to entail.

Grow the rhymes to fill up the charm;
Empty is as empty does, what’s the harm?

Catering to hearts promise-given to another;
Forgiving Alabama and Neil Young, now so old;
Like I said, dropped my heart of gold, sure as not—
Such an old story the young won’t hear when told.

Finest vines give wines so splendid—
My only lasting loving friends.
Born in the 50’s and so damn sure:
Wish I’d found that love they say never ends.

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Morninglory

So, well…yes
I suppose, I must confess
That I’m just a single simpleton
Never a race I have entered have I won
Not even a single one
Not one
But, once upon a time:
I shall venture with this little rhyme
(Or, maybe a true life’s story)
Of a friend aurora’d in golden glory—
Shall we call her Morninglory
OK then, M’glory
Twas in the frozen North,
Anchoring away such and so forth,
I chanced to follow a fellow swabbie into a shop
Where hot hip transfers are pressed onto one’s top
And oh, my heart did stop—
Full stop
Alas, of course, such a joy couldn’t last
As it happens: the many-many years have passed:
Morninglory had her own full Life’s path to travel,
As I sailed after green seas and trod flat rutted gravel,
Witnessing some dreams coarsely unravel,
Bang, the gavel
Now, upon these here internets
Where youngish oldies can place new bets,
Allowed I was to restart with a believed spent story
And became friends again with my Morninglory—
Never again to be sorry,
Never sorry
So, a Winter wish to all readers of this raggedy rhyme, and so-so story,
That your wishes come true and you again find your own Morninglory