this is the season

I’d blame the markets


The’ve done nothing wrong

Encircled then are fingers

They’re dancing to a song

A jingle

Let them mingle

Let them run off and play

Heavy hearted

Dear departed

Under covers full of art &

Crayons colloidal

Marking hashtags

Hiding in plain sight

Full of rhyme with sound reason

Social butterflies dancing

Off key

The tumbler clicks



Ticking sound counting down

So gather round

And hear the sound

Of troubles taking wing

Be untroubled

On the double

By silliness or spite

Darkness ain’t the end

Tomorrow; there will be light

A toast

A cheer

A celebration near

Shortsighted though some may be

(A raised hand in back sheepishly says “guilty”)

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