I heard a bird singing somewhere beyond my sight
and took it upon faith that he was really there
just like I know the sun will rise tomorrow
and that in the life of a star our sun
is young and younger than my
soul I’m sure for I have been
around too long for my own
good and listening to
these strange words
it’s not my usual
muse who
harsh words
upon this stark page
but some strange rambler
who has caught me off guard
and insists on being heard despite
my attempts to suppress them malcontent
now off with your head you wicked thoughts
for I have miles to go before I sleep and morning
comes early at this time of year; no time have I for
carousing and beer like in the mead halls of my ancestors
no time for berserking or twerking, no time for anything but working
in this strange land so many call home, the land of the Big PX we called it
fondly so long ago when we were all in the Emperor’s vast armed services

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