Wha?
Who would not feel confused,
When words become reversed,
And that when you want to talk,
You feel you must rehearse?
When everyone’s offended,
By looks and tweets and signs,
Until you think that maybe,
From the human race you will resign.
The discomfiture’s predictable,
We’re fish tossed from the lake,
Some days the new traditions,
Are more than you can take.
You only can rely at last,
In truths proved through history,
Though even those are at the whim,
Of those who cannot see.
Anne Selleck
Copyright 2020
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