Last night,
the phone didn't ring.
I didn't pick up.
I didn't spring.
No spreading of wings.
No spreading of wings.
No dollop of good things.
No playing the harp.
No tying my shoe strings.
Just scratching my butt,
making pals with each touch.
But I'll put in the time,
just to find out what.
Cuz we'll meet one day,
feel it in my gut.
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