If you tell me not to reach my hand
Into that rugged bush
I probably will ,
I'll beg myself
Not to throw myself
Into that briar patch
And I'll do it,
as any naughty rabbit would,
When standing atop
A Blue Mountain cliff
And staring
At three crumbling sisters
With rocky breasts beckoning
I look down,
I look across,
And someday the promise
Of the pain will be too much to refuse
Not necessarily
For sorrow
But merely curiosities abound
I most likely will jump
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