Not A Ballad (O, Sing This Once Again)

Had things to say, but they melted; can't be that significant, then.
I'm satisfied with so much.
In life, I mean. Are you happy? I'm satisfied.
The real secret of life is to settle for what you have.
(However, this does not sell books.)
I am immensely satisfied.

The joys of neutral gear.
Work to do, work to do, and always miles to go, la.
I say goodbye in raw spring and high summer.
They never say hello back.

White space
is an entirely inadequate substitution
for a single finite point of ink--
Ex nihlio, done.

(If you press the Enter key in single space, that's poetry, sonny boy.)