Okay, but in no way does it mean this poem is yours. Like, don't try to sell it or some stupid shit.
You know what? In case you're confused, I'll make it extra shitty so no one will ever want it.
I solve problems good.
'Till naked rivers flee the ocean
(we walk, hands splayed)
Take me up on fountains high
(we love, minds flayed)
I never thought to ask the witches
(we wander, eyes grayed)
Or the imps that nightly fly:
How do screams maim hearts forever?
Won't they flaccidly subside?
Short Answer: Fountains High. (That or 'Lazy-Ass Title'.)