The Darlings, v.1

I'm sure it was well-meant. And these are darling people who approach you. But early this week, they wanted me to write a poem for the graduating batch. I said "no," which was, as usual, the summer flower of at least nineteen original negations. Foremost among these negations go thus: "A poem for them, the relieved ones? Haven't you heard: I sing dead people."

But all they heard was my "no." They must've been angry at most, must've been disappointed at least, must've remained my friends. So, it remains sunny and sunny and sunny.

"No," and I have not stopped humming since.