Don't Grieve, Leave! - 1124 - Initial Version

Don't grieve, but, leave, and do so in a trice,
better alone, than moan pain doubled twice.
'If of himself he will not love' advice
is academic - so why starve on rice
when heart and mind may find with roll of dice
a spare rib tasty? Hasty snap the splice.
Waste not the day, turn swift from prison vice
and leave ice scoundrel to his own device.
Does praise aloud from crazy crowd suffice
revising shaky rake with snaky vice?
Dance on, advance, leave loser to his lice,
and unforesworn incite tomorrow's spice.
Counsel in terse verse can't be more precise,
wench grieve not, take French leave, split in terms w[r]it concise.

(29 March 2005)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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