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I teeter as I totter to and fro
In life as on a children’s playground swing.
Uncertain as to where I ought to go
Or what I ought to do . . . if anything.

Upon a fence I sit as in a saddle
I find it hard to concentrate my mind.
I cannot even choose which side to straddle
For love, I’ve found, like justice, can be blind.

She either loves me or she loves me not,
The answer’s simple, either black or white.
But daisy petal-plucking’s all I’ve got
To find which way is wrong and which is right.

To overcome my chronic hesitation
I must discard all subtle shades of gray
Then make my choice without prevarication
And face a thumb’s-up “Yea,” or thumb’s-down, “Nay.”

I don’t know how to formulate the question
The whole thing leaves me trembling in fear.
And even as I fight off indigestion,
The options that I have are very clear:

I either run away to Madagascar
Or somehow find the nerve to kneel and ask her.

Old comic postcard. Landlady left, astonished potential lodger right.