to those who’d make the poets flee
because of choice in words, do try
to see yourself in silly socks
with clown-red nose and paint,
your face is happy, life just rocks
not for the timid or the faint.
Dyslexic? No, it’s failing grip
on life’s most simple treasures,
keep, if you can your upper lip
stiff, all inspite of pleasures.
The censor is his own worst foe
there is no place for him,
perhaps a stronger wind must blow
the future does look grim.

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