Unique,
But nothing in common,
A leftover of heat,
And a rejection of water,
His story is a lonely one,
But bright in his eyes,
Shining with the sun.
But alone is he,
In the words of love,
(Though not for lack of trying),
As he woos the maidens of Green.
His friends all gave him in,
Nothing fits quite right,
And his only true companions,
The Black and Nightmares of might.
He wishes fondly to fit right in,
But only black sheep take him in,
Their rainbow manes draw him back again.
All in all,
Something fits,
But not quite right,
As humans ignore his feelings,
His desires left and right,
The picture faintly broken,
His eccentricity at quite a height.
"What makes a genius, is it IQ, or something more?"
ISA
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