for Sir Mick Jagger
If on regrets I tend to dwell
In a voice both halting and lame,
As rich and tender feelings swell
Inside my bosom, who's to blame?
No sooner am I freed of debt,
Than mirth is part of me once more.
Without delay I cease to fret
At what my future holds in store.
You may consider me a fraud
For overlooking my own faults
When royal socialites applaud
My daring leaps and somersaults.
In my defence, I've never been
Concerned foremost with fitting in.
©2016 Michael Fraley
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