An annuated Irishman with a spotty publication history trying to write one decent poem every couple of days for the rest of his miserable God-bedeviled life in the obviously contradictory hope that he will thereby find salvation.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Marriage
I married a farmer
whose crop wouldn't grow.
I married a gambler
who lost at each throw.
I married a river
to the ocean he'd flow.
Now I'm wed to a ghost.
Hear him come, hear him go.
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