Like a toy I won’t let you play with because you’re ill equipt.
Not capable of understanding my choices, my wit.
I had to battle constantly more habit than choice.
A tool of grave defences in how I used my voice.
An intellectual enigma stuck with metaphorical references.
A fence with no boundaries where nobody tresspasses.
Confucious say…..I’m sorry for not believing.
You were smarter than the thought I am.
©G.P Williamson 2017