Résumé / Michael Kwack

Love is,

like art,

dull without passion.

Marriage is,

like enterprise,

tough without fortune.

Home is,

like chair,

harsh without comfort.

Life is,

like sleep,

dry without dream.

Death is,

like letter,

empty without story.

Will is,

like poem,

absurd without wit.

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You lived by yourself and felt so dejected

as your dating requests were always rejected.

Sadness and shame is what you projected.

You got to the point where it all was accepted.

You lived by yourself and felt so dejected,

so went for a walk when fate intercepted.

A ‘Clover’ sign fell and letters defected.

Sometimes ‘love’ strikes when it isn’t expected.

     From my forthco...

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