There is something about poetry
that lends itself to melancholy.

That leads the mind to be morose,
To draw misery and sorrow close.

But apply a little thought around,
Something brighter can be found.

Every rhyme can be a quip,
every verse becomes a hit,

Of something just to lift one up,
More sure than wine in a cup.

So I wrote this as an aide memoire.
Serious poems are not all there are.

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