When in a sombre nature
Or the antipode- a jolly tenor.
Dealt with below your stature
And positioned to a kingly manor,
The outcoming grief is curbed.
Watching a scene of an orphan disturbed,
Morning time, when nature plays
And discloses its pretty little wings,
When, gravely, a baptist prays
And your chest produces unworldly things,
When you meet a long lost mate
And find that his love has turned into hate,
With happy plans, parents come
But a mischief gives you their horrid scold,
Then, if anger turns you plum
And you stop all talk forcing them to fold
Death of a love eats you up
Or jingoism cancels daily sups,
And tranquil is the present,
And you have a calm heart throbbing in you,
Then sit under the crescent,
And compose a little poem or two.
You will be read by many
And passing time will provide you plenty.