by C Michael M
Can't say I know this one. Hence the title, I suppose.
No, That's Pretty Much It
And in the night, you try the dying,
the weakened, weary, sick; yet trying
A solid hope, a glory seeking;
the silence of the mute still speaking.
The sight: A glimpse, a glance of better.
Deep in the drought of emotion, wetter.
And on thy knees the princess begging.
Should not pat the dog with tail wagging.
For the soul of humor is the ghost of hate.
And the convolution of destiny
is just a copulation of Fates.