Branching minds, on the offense
As traipsing lollipops come
Winding down the narrow brick road
Seeking a little for some.
Scent fills strong along the turns
Growing amidst the rock
Skipping happily, singing the tune
Breathing along with the stock.
Pretty little liars abound & abscess
Holding their hands just so
But look closer now, and closer still
Swinging their arms to and fro.
We want truth and they give it to us
Whether we like it or not
But the error is – and grievously so –
We do not give it a thought.