stacks of rocks are very zen. i don't know why. that's it. the end.
You read the title
And thought of “Bohemian Rhapsody”
But I’m a rogue and a scamp that way,
If I was in charge, the world would be much worse.
Chaotic and unfair, but — lots of verse.
I’d outlaw cold, give everyone a goat,
A house and drawbridge, over their own moat.
It know that it sounds stupid, overlarge —
Perhaps that’s why I’m never put
So I’ve been called irascible
A charge that I find risible
I seldom carp
And mostly am invisible
Yet I’ve been called a malcontent
I guess that’s true to some extent
But yet it seems
To me at least
My carping is a nonevent
For when I take to grumbling
It’s hesitant and stumbling
I’d never to seek
To show you up
Or subject you to humbling
But my complaints are few and small
I’m sure you find them passable
So cool your jets
And take a pill
And don’t call me
Follow your heart, wherever your
Dreams lead you —
Except this. It’s too cold.
Rebecca always hated me
I know, because she said:
And if I passing, spoke to her
I might as well be dead
For all the interest she would show.
But I would always try:
And she might glance up from her book
Or not, as I went by.
But then, one day, she spoke to me
And asked me if I had
A copy of Persuasion
She could borrow for a tad
I said I did, and brought it on
The very next of days;
Rebecca took it with a glance
That turned into a gaze
“You like me, Owen, don’t you?”
I did not know what to say —
“Well, don’t. Because I don’t like you,”
And so I went away
But lo, the years have gone
And I now see what I mistook –
If you’re out there —
Can I have
My fricking book?