Sonnet: Grind us down with your problems

Keep grinding. Life’s supposed to be a bed
of roses. Oh, how we all feel for you, son.
Wish we could know what’s going on in your head.
Too bad- as all we always have is fun.
Advice? Visit a joint, greet, have your seat,
& order your afflictive local drinks.
They could be cheap, so DRINK! Do no quit
yourself away ’til your eyes cease to blink,
and your steps start to tramp. If these means fail,
bargain a very safe area, a stool,
a copious length of rope or bunchy veil–
(a team of simple and regular tools).
A wooden ceiling will do- one with hook,
or jump, head-down, into a shallow brook.



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