Friday, July 4, 2014


An anonymous poem.


Come, my friend, if you please,
We will walk and shoot the breeze,
And when the breeze is shot to hell
We will all our secrets tell

Oh, I have secrets, yes I do,
And no one I can tell them to.
Yet sometimes as I walk in rain
I'd kind of like to share the pain

Of the secret kept so long
But I know I must be strong.
And yet a while bear this weight
And solely stand up to my fate.

And so I will not share my plight
Until I've found a way to fight
And change the course I seem to be
Traveling to the death of me.

By keeping the secret in my head
Until the day that I am dead
I'll keep from spoiling anyone's bliss.
Better to live in happiness.

So come my friend and we will talk
as merrily we take our walk.
Cheerily we'll shoot the breeze
And avoid all talk of my disease.

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