All my plans haven’t gone away
They’ve really just been delayed

People they fret I can’t explain
They all just sort of strayed

It’s not my style to beg or plead
I sometimes require aid

They all want something from me
I have nothing for trade

Many years spent on this journey
Every direction came a grenade

You tell a different story
That isn’t the life that you portrayed

Why do you get all the glory
While I’m prisoner in this stockade

No need for you to hurry
My heart rotted and decayed

© Delia Ross. 2019

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