For someone else’s yellows,

I barter my usual blues,

My head has no trouble falling

For this subtle subterfuge.


I sleep my way out

Of my problems,

But my poor problems

Never get to sleep.


If what you chase

Starts to run

Towards you

For a change,

Would you then

Run into it,

Or would it

Run over you?


Do you know

What rhymes

With orange?


You can rhyme


With yourself,

And still be called

A poem, albeit,

A whimsical one!


There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Featured image from Pexels

24 thoughts on “Hoodwinked

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