deibhidhe
Most days I don't mind the mess
that fills my fancy, doubtless
in its mad mire growing grand
plans my desires demand;
But today, the turmoil seeks
to wreck my poor reason's speech;
and turn to tares the flowers
where I've worked long hard spent hours.
Voices volley in my head;
Oh, that order would instead
cast this chaos to the void
before this day is destroyed.
13 APR 2004
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