Smug today, gone tomorrow.

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Who’s the poet who hasn’t heard of Shakespeare?

A word smith who doesn’t know how words meet.

Who’s lost his way yet stuck in his feet?

A wrestler having stage-fright in a cage fight.

Who’s he who doesn’t need God’s might?

A car running on a broken piston-rod.

Who is he, haughty and smug?

A dry leaf in the hands of a fiery wind.

Words spill, they won’t rescind.

Today a smug, tomorrow beneath the epitaph.

 

EZEMMỤỌ MUSINGS 2023

 

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