As a December sky strays from its drizzle to a deep
and with woebegone eyes waxing; worried to weep
When my detached visage sets-up distant to deeper
Truth and whole truth is, I don't deserve to keep her
Wearied I waiver from LockTite - on down to dizzy
My thoughts are gyroscopic- all mind-bending busy
Seeking a semblance of some sort sense of balance
Away! on a quest to recover Lancelot's lost chalice
Throbbing from the heart strings- that well up inside
Such unspoken words; found so convenient to hide
The north wind curses me, and I'm blown off-track
Wish to God could make her want to have me back
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