I wrote a poem to myself

I am a fool. I pick up tears
From Sadness valley once a year.
You thought you knew me;
I stopped and stared. I smiled
And cried-you fool!
Your words were spoken.
What to do? To do something
Has never been more difficult.
I fell. That fall!
I am a fool. I pick up words
From Liars’ valley once a year.
I stop and stare and smile and hope
That this is it and I can rest.
I trouble trouble every day,
This is my poise, my restless quest
For love, for love, for rest.

Recunosc, I was bored stiff.