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Fingers Crossed

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A lie, a fib, a stretch of truth,
A puzzle for a mental sleuth.
A small tall-tale or fabrication,
Enhance the feel or the sensation.
A change of age or change of name,
Each telling must remain the same.
A switch of scene or tweak in time,
It needs no reason, needs no rhyme.
Is your audience so naïve?
How much can you make them believe?

Did I swat a bug or slay a dragon?
Drive a Ferrari or a Volkswagen?
Live in a mansion or a box?
Create the tales that real life mocks.
Am I rich or am I poor?
Is the truth a shameful bore?
A normal story may seem bland,
Unless it’s in a distant land.
Say you’ve gone to a strange place,
And disappeared without a trace.

And right before your story’s done,
If you would like to have some fun,
Just add a white lie or alteration,
Make an argument an altercation.
But before you change the night to day,
There is something that I’ve got to say.
So in you I must confide,
That I’ve really never lied.
And that is something I’ll guarantee,
A truth that is so true to me.





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