Ought

Ought
I to consort
With the hot
Thought?
Perhaps not
But there is no harm
In a thought …

The charm
Of her
Bare
Arm …
A mere thought.
Ought I?
Ought I not?
On this hot
Day.

The way
Is full of roses, and who will roses spurn
But roses to weeds may turn
And the heart is ofte times torn
By many a lethal thorn.

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