If absence makes the heart grow fonder,
I cannot help but mull and ponder,
That if I hadn’t moved away
I’m sure I’d never want to stay
In the place I always need to be,
The pool of life beside the sea.
So surely it’s a waste of time,
Purely just a pantomime
In which I’ll play the merry dame
And dance on strings in my own little game,
Convinced the grass is always greener,
Failing to see that I’m a winner.
So does absence make the heart grow fonder?
A clichéd myth I shouldn’t wonder.
Yet had I not left my busy port
And ventured south, umbilical taut,
I’d never know what it means to me
To miss the city by the sea.
Yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder,
But will I ever really abscond there?
Who can tell? But I’ll tell you something…
If I have to spend another minute wondering
If I’ll ever make it back up there,
I’m not so sure that I’d really care.
I would really .. but you know that!
You see, care rhymes with there and port rhymes with taut.
I need fresh thoughts, a new way of thinking.
I need to ditch the rhyming verse and its lazy way of linking
This line to that - I really have to break the cycle
Of writing in a certain way and always feeling wistful,
About the things I cannot change
And focus on those I can rearrange,
Like the rest of my life and the colour of my rabbit,
There I go again with my predictable rhyming habit!
I don’t seem able to end this terse little verse
As the need for rhythm and structured prose has really become a curse.
Perhaps this line will be the last and I will rise above it,
To lay to rest the unchangeable - will this rhyme be the pivot?
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