Caution

I throw caution at the wind, suffice to say, I haven’t sinned. I grit my teeth, grind my feet on a steep decline.

Fidget, falter, fumble, in laughter, yet water soaks my spine. I weigh the odds against no cause, of feeble noughts.

I stretch miles, jumble the signs and weep with the lost. Take no pride, as you walk beside, chimneys unfurl the cloud of smoke. And a quaint hut perched on hilly suburbs, is my humble abode.

Cautions are statutory warnings on a box of cigar, you’ll smoke. And thence be told, it never gets old.

Your age outnumbers your loss.