There remains no doubt in all this life has been about. To stand stout and shout against the encroachment of the churl and the lout. We’re refined in circumstance whether dress, skirt or pants. In war, sales or romance. Everything determined by the portrait of our stance.

What fear is wrought in all that we’ve been taught, begged, borrowed or bought or the virus we caught? What thoughts are made pure in the things we endure? What days are made right by dark dreams in the night? What families made whole with no soup in each bowl?

So simple the word, so absurd all the history we heard. When evil makes kings the wind that it brings poisoned with things that the spring never brings. But summer is hot and plenty in pot none left to rot as the time each forgot. All sad little tales the Bishop regales forever it fails.

Asleep at my work some entitlement jerk refusing to clerk nor greasing the zerk. The system in pause my toes, beak and claws testing the laws and escaping the maws. But none true shall pass no boy, count or lass with charisma a class we are fated to pass. Happily.