A Simple Yearning

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(Apropos to The Imp and his good friend Bronn)

What do I say to you, Oh brother!

As I keep going back

To the shrine

Where children are murdered

And wives are sold.

I do not seek fortune

Or stolen gold

I get by with trivial merry making.

Why do I need more

When I am ecstatic with the plunder

Of sweet middle age, trampling wild

Under the bliss of roasted beans and unsavoury wine.

I need no wonders,

Nor a damsel or an old hag

What do I say to say to you, Oh brother!

When all I need is you, for my swine.


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