From The Branches { my parody title and words}
{A Few Figs From Thistles By Edna St. Vincent Millay}
I am not true to my love fickle am I to myself If you were not pretty, I would leave to be by myself were you not my pangs of subtle food to quench my wildest thirst leave you, but I would find another, like did you you are fluid like the swerving air and your magic, more evolving than the tide but I must be always at your side so petulant my love for you I am most false when I am most true
[ My humble thanks to Edgar, Walt, Alfred and Edna for allowing us, young and old to revisit the true masters of poetry ]
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