Confabulation

There is a trick I like to play on me

A trick you often play as well I’d bet

I tell myself a lie I half-believe

Suspecting it untrue and then forget

I see writ large whatever fits my case

And brush aside the facts that do not suit

Revive a memory somehow erased

Amending recollection branch and root

My story is by prejudice composed

From elements, some accurate, some not

Embroidered with some detail I’ve supposed ­-

What surely happened, but I had forgot

They said I perjured as I did deceive

But it’s not perjury if you believe

 

 

Daily Poem is taking a break for Easter.

 

 

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