Fire

The consequences were dire
Invitations would expire
There was no will to inquire
Or maybe I just don’t inspire
Take my soul out of the mire
Place it back into the fire
Had I known what would transpire
I would have climbed a bit much higher
I would have found a different buyer
I would have worn different attire
There are goods that I aquire
I need a shelter for my desire

© Delia Ross. 2019

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