It was a born to meet,
Never a walk to greet.
Some say the story is neat,
But it turns my feet to concrete
As if I were glued to an imaginary seat.

It was a born to fit,
Never a place to sit.
Strangers might stay a bit,
But every second is a hit to the pit
Of a woven memory kit.

Sad to know a granted wish,
Would be to know instead a fish.
Hard to say wish we...