A Rare Quasi-Poetic Doodle

      And before I get emails from one corner of the world or another, keep in mind this is merely a doodle -- and so not a poem, and so just a teasing through. Even a parody, if you will.

Love and I-- we had a row--
A wail-- now we no longer talk--
We helled ourselves, piqued, unpacked,
Struck each with Ahab's mark and thought,

There with some hron-wracked sense
Of revenge. And so we warred--
Would still war-- but attrition
Wisped-- and we stood unwater'd

Down. Dickering was pointless.
We gathered nothing. Instead we sang,
Murmured, inebriate with peace
And its maudlin thoughts of hope,

Those tortured duns of Emily.
There's no farewell upon these seas,
Merely this and that and waves--
And that we had to say goodbye.

Read too much into this and prepare to DIE. Maybe one century I'll finally get a poem right. This isn't one of them; it's just a doodle.