To CB (always) from MW (II)

You thought you might help me –

and then for a time I bet you

felt I was beyond

all hope.

Or maybe that was me:

maybe I lost faith

in the intelligence you showed

in all this when and go and so;

in all this stuff 

that downed.

But if now you are ready

to try again fine,

let us rewind a year 

and hear the sound of grand rhyme.

The Woollen Mills again

can be soon our destination.

And instead of mad expressions of a crazed 

and idiot love,

it behoves me (not out of

obligation 

I proceed to then romantically unreel 

but, rather, 

out of a

downright – explicitly! – expressed 

appreciation I steal)

to stretch out my hand

in friendship for everything you have done,

and just beg you 

on bandaged knee

to succour gently

the wounds of this soldier-man: 

the soldier-man your wisdoms 

clearly have made;

the soldier-foundations your deep affections 

clearly have laid.

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