All those outfits I discard at will
Trying to determine who I am.
When I get up I think I know, but still
My blouses, trousers fly like bread and jam!
Camilla wears her gray and always knows
Except when agitation hits her ears,
Except when agitation hits her ears,
While I go flying off within the throes
Of some invented crisis or arrears.
Of some invented crisis or arrears.
Dear God, give me the strength to wear one thing,
And not pile all those clothes up on my bed;
And please, I add, the comfort that would bring May make me see more green instead of red.
You need to know it’s not those alms I need.
You need to know it’s not those alms I need.
1 comment:
Well said + great photos!
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