Citrus Powered Words

I’m not a poet, nor do I write.

I simply relay what brings me fright.

Joy or laughter not in Spring

Relaying brings me everything

I’ve ever thought and puts it out

For the world to hear, critique and shout

Or whisper if they’re so inclined

To heed my scribbles, not quite wise.

Douglas Adams might define,

my nonsense as quite mad inclined.

As if my brain were powered by,

a lemon squeezed, until dry.

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