Let me tell you, dear Fred,

About how fatefulness led

From exhaustion to love

Like a bee gliding into a glove

Or a foot with ruby sock

Kicking open a sugared lock.

But I wonder, old pal,

How it’s going, and your gal,

How she’s doing as well,

And how the old magic from the spell

Is winding down to its end

Back to where all things must descend.

There’s no such thing as luck,

I’ll tell you that, and some pluck

Will go a long way towards

Breaking through the closed windows

and the boards

That were nailed there out of fear

And the lack of required good cheer.

But I know that you know

That, dear Fred, and that the show

We’re all starring in is

Not unlike the one about the wiz

And ultimately funny

Like a bee conjuring honey.

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