When time and love was all you had
Today, in less-firm ground, you form a line
With peace and hope, abroad and glad
I'm on retreat and doing fine
There are a few rules, but none so bad
I'm up at five, to go and listen to your kind
Then I write, sometimes happy, sometimes sad
Making a few memories before I too recline
Wondering about the Italian, playing the Stradivarius
The German monk, 8 years he's sought the sign
I came with nothing, a simple country lad
It's an awful poem, without form or design
And there's no hope of rescue for it is just a fad
When you don't know where you are going
It is easier to break with the traditional
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