Go Away

I see, said he. What do you want of me? To play in my tree? To speak softly with glee? To be in my face rather than feeding me? I have an answer to all You, human, are my devotee   What shall I make of this? Your camera bliss You have run amiss with your misplaced hubris You created a crisis A supreme antithesis of sleep and rhyme I shall need psychoanalysis whatever the $%#@*&% that is To endRead more