March, about those last three days you borrowed from April to warm you up.
I can guess why you wouldn’t want to give them back.
Borrowing a little bit of warmth is a wise move,
but don’t you think a return’s much past due?
Or be benevolent, pay it forward, and pass them on
to February to make up for lost time.
If you must be one or the other, never be a lender.
Once you’ve loaned, you’ve lost, and you’ve never heard
it’s better to have loaned and lost, than never to have loaned at all.
The borrower holds the upper hand, chortles over those 9/10ths of the law.
There’s a reason why we’ve all heard the term, “permanent loan.”
Only banks are cheeky enough to demand a return,
and they will back that up with meanest miserly retaliation.
So unneighborly, how they always want the hammer and the hedge shears back,
won’t let you serve as their satellite repository,
the black hole hiding their buckets of blood lost in space.
And if it’s a choice of being lost or found, choose lost.
Founds only sit in boxes, stuffed deep in dark recesses,
suffocated out of circulation, disappeared to time and memory.
Now with losts, there’s always something of interest, even intrigue.
Belinda, where’s your lock? Your handkerchief, Desdemona?
And speaking of banks, Satan’s a special case.
Fascinating how he still grasps his jeweled crown.
He’s one who embodies both well, the lost and found.