The frail constitution of conscience,
the assumed brevity of spirit,
and the calculated immodesty of mind,
all curtained with a green palette—
courtesy of a linden bathed in sunlight—
is a simple recipe for disaster
or a poem.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
If you fight fire with fire, you leave nothing behind
but ashes—sometimes, though, that’s the only way,
like when you are trying to put out a forest inferno
or it turns out the innamorati were wearing masks
after all, and now that they have fallen off,
the courtly pas and swivel turn into a scuffle
on the courtroom floor.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 