Sudoku life
Monday’s are easy.
Everything falls into place.
A breeze.
By Thursday,
Few blanks are easy.
Some are barely discernible.
Plenty have dual identities.
I’m stumped.
How I wish life fell into boxes.
First this, then this.
It doesn’t.
It’s waiting.
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Posted on July 20, 2017, in Instinct, Life, poetry and tagged games, sudoku. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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