THIS PHRASE... This phrase troubles me. When it approaches me, I tremble Like a dove Locked up in the cold of winter. This phrase has turned Into a mournful song That heralds a funeral procession. In my repertoire, It plays over and over again. It turns my joy into distress, It saddens my face, It colors my soul with stress, To such an extent that my being swims In a mad rage, For it strips me of my peace of mind And plunges me into a river of anxiety. The song plays without