With all my faults, I've come to grips,
But through my arms and hands they slip,
So many once, but now just two,
Let's call them now, "Hey me", "Hey fool?"
I never know which one will show,
My mind at times an unsteady flow,
Of imperfections, twisted views,
Oh, I hope it's not the fool.
Cause if it's me then sense should bide,
some time to talk, to think, decide,
The mirror tells of moody blues,
when questions beckon me and fool.
We are the way we are you see,
cause I'm the fool and fool is me.


I thoroughly enjoyed that. I find it enlightening that I can have people write better poetry than I do and not feel at all
threatened or offended by it. This is the second time in a few days that this has happened to me, the first being the poem by masqua in reply to my
last. Beautiful poem and thank you for sharing it.