I won't write a news article.
Because if I did, I would write
Something very, very fickle,
With not a single paper to cite,
Merciless as a sharp sickle.
It's the end of this pandemic.
That's the one I would write.
The one idea people seek.
But I will never use my right
To fool the depressed and the weak,
To offer a nice but fake light.
There are lies that shouldn't be said,
Lies that don't decrease all the dead,
The dead who have been so misled.
I would rather write something true,
But nice. Inspiring and pleasant,
These are the things that I can brew
With words as leaves that bend and slant,
And rhythm as waters that stew.
Some of you need to cry and rant,
But nice things help us live, we knew.
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