The Dichotomy of Moods
Balmy
Is it a balmy afternoon?
In calm breezes of tranquillity
Or has someone gone stark raving mad?
A bad case of instability.
The dichotomy of moods
And changes in the weather
This means keeping a weather eye.
Around the if and whether.
As crazy as a cut snake
Or cool as a cucumber
There’s no telling the wild men.
Who lives in the land, down under?
Eccentricity and tomfoolery
With benign and gentle intentions
Or has the lad gone balmy again?
We need further interventions.
Embalmed with fragrant lotions
My mummy lies in splendour.
Her body’s here, her soul elsewhere.
For telepathy, I send her.
I don’t know if she’s listening.
Or if she’ll ever hear me
But she should know without a doubt.
Her one remaining son’s gone balmy.
Mummies can be funny.
And can be found in Egyptian places.
Riding in their golden chariots
She was last seen off to the races.
However, I digress; my mind is a mess.
And some say that since I joined the army.
Some links have gone haywire.
And I’ve ended up balmy.
©
David Rudder
2023
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