Stupid me, a jack in the bogs,
the man who tried to woo his fruits!
Dull and numb I was, and null and dumb they became.
Nothing grows in Lyndhurst. Who knows why?
Every berry heard my merry-andrew monologues,
and all they did was burst,
in the heat, or under my boots. Always the same.
Now all the fruits are picked. I put them in a pie.
http://www.erikkennedy.com/
