I will weather this storm,
through a steady gale
as I clutch to the rigging
white-knuckled and raw,
hung swung between masts
of massive tree-trunks,
with a drink and a book
and I will not fall.
And I will not flee. I looked forward to this
all week, all month - hell I always am
looking forward to hammock time. I will not
retreat, give way, give up or give in.
Blow rain, blow wet! My drink is strong
You can water it down, it will taste
just fine. Though my book, probably
was a poorer choice. A gift from a friend, and
a favorite of mine.
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