I am not dumbstruck
by the vagaries of luck
I hope you will be mine
when the weather is fine
You place your tent
with my enemies’ consent
This stifled envy
to which I am privy
Thus, I battle through detente
Chess is a game of patience
I only scold the stars
that illuminate my scars
But I have whiskers of knowledge
on my instinct’s collage
that the weather was always fine
And you were always mine
too good
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