GUESSIN’

I reckoned my second guessin’ was worse than my first. In the long run, when all is said and done, I should have never said it, just forget it, let it go.

I know guessin’ is my obsession, not my profession. By now I should have learned my lesson and stopped messin’ around with suspicions, suppositions and what-ifins and refer to current conditions in making my decisions.

I‘ve been wrong so long I prefer to hide behind my rhymes rather than admit I’m sometimes wrong.

I make this concession: in the future I’ll do less guessin’ about recession or depression, hallucination or imagination, defecation or constipation, remunerations or financial compensations.

I’ll be more adverse to verse, more pro to prose by pros who compose. Admit my brain is somewhere below my nose, near my knees, above my toes. So it goes.


I’ll no longer be Wegads with scads about gals and lads, blogs and blags. I’ll just complain about this and that and will the world be flat but still go on after you and I are gone and whether it is here or there or anywhere will the RepubliCANTS really care?