Poetry, for me, used to be nothing more than a thought, feeling, or opinion expressed in rhyme, which explains my being (mostly) bad at it. In searching through old, yellowed papers for a long-misplaced poem I wanted to finally place in a computer file, a poem that would not now make me cringe, I came across another poem instead. It is shared below, obviously not for its æsthetic value, but only because I noticed it was written on the 16^th of this month forty-one years ago, and that forty-one years have changed nothing.