I've loved you unlike any other, 

But I'm finding an empty bother. 

I've built my own home —

But I still atone —

And my story is not Young Werther.

My home: it does always surround me;

I define the pleasures of "foundry."

But something's awry —

With too many sighs —

The glamour no longer astounds me. 

It seems to be 'little more putrid.

(Maybe if I weren't so reclusive), 

They would hear my thoughts —

Innards less in knots — 

find succor instead of feel stupid.

Your streets aren't as quiet as Venice —

Although I like most of your tenants —

Ten years I have stayed,

I fought to the grave!

Reviving here: also quite pleasant. 

Sometimes limericks aren't so funny,

Especially when you feel crummy. 

I've loved my life here; 

Is the end so near?

Where else could I go and be bumm-y?

These restaurants, they once gave me solace.

I now feel more like a mollusk.  

Even two nights a week

Gives a rash on the cheek,

And I come home hungry and nauseous. 

Oh! to never work in these places

Where you smile in everyone's faces.

Tried to launch with my smarts — 

But they didn't have hearts —

Couldn't see I only give aces.

Funny how hard work gives you pleasure,

(When you wanted a life of leisure);

You're not mad about that

'Cause your CV is fat! 

Ain't it quaint how here showed you the treasure?

But, when I leave, it will be a burden,

ALL the books (and that one sexy turban).

I stay for my plants 

And feeding the ranks

Of the birds: the most gorgeous and urban.

6th February 2024