I am neither smart, nor wise;
The maths on paper slip through
Like lives creased by seeping vice,
And then my art is less than few,
Yet, my children run so freely,
I look beyond but I see no thought,
Like rabbits they roam free in haste,
Surviving, oui, but these graced lot
Fathom not my words so faint and still,
They chew their gums readily a lot,
Yet know not what come to teeth so ill!
But having lived, and knowing fausses dents,
These are the times I sacrifice one last try,
And I sit down with my children in tents
A doughnut with the finest pie.
These are the smiles I live ere I die!
The chalice I hold, the cup of joy implant!
Nor the seeking joys of old long deny,
For I have breathed death and exhaled want.
%d bloggers like this: