I’m on the brink
to show you, Mary,
I could have been
well, somehow wrong?
There is an inkling
in my mind
it drifts around
just like a song
and in the morning
after tinkling
when all my teeth
want to be seen
nobody left
truly behind?
I’ve heard that
sometimes,
stone meets stone,
and calcitonin
makes the bone
and that, belatedly
and strangely,
the blueberry
and thistle vines
are friends without
the recognition.
And was it really
the great Cronin
who sent me on
this final mission?
I am so sorry
if this fits
and will go out
to turn a wheelie
so could you bear
with me some more?