The list

The list is formidable, frayed in the corner
Yellowed, crawly writing, corner to corner
Like little ants in line that have lost the way
To the edge of the wall, shouts lost in legs
We have got to do these things, before dying.
Our dying list is a bucket list, a corners list
Where all is swept up to the angular edges
And we make our ant-lines, lost in our ways
Our little white stuff, on our backs all the time.
So many legs, we have lost count, so many.

 

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