The Merry Whatnot

stern and strewn

owned mistakes pride

washed and moved

collected comforts lie

freestanding now

with the loss for words

little left to lose

new lean to abuse

time to make up

found pieces to redeem

time to wake up

pull over the old bereave

there's nothing quite

like a scar to truth

this is nothing quite

like a bruise

mean for sport, sporting the means

the sentiment express, rail-tied and neat

idling, waiting

excused from prior fears

excuse the cost to disappear