You’re sensible enough to stop yourself before things get too out of hand.
“It’s a good thing I’m not more like I am, or I’d be in big trouble…”
Anybody could see: you’ll do an acceptable job, until the end.
After that, any grave would hold you tight, wrapped in silky soil.
The earth would cradle you in delicate roots until you’d melted away.
And afterward, when the spell is broken, would you want to come back here?
Give it another try?
And maybe get into a little more trouble this time?
Words and photo © Jaime Greenberg, 2019
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