a smile or frown

the masks are worn but still remain as true

as in the early day but when we move

beyond the instant second then the groove

has changed and there's no power to renew

what was ill-made by any human view

the which we have no right to disapprove

rather to wait as others would remove

our final hope with the bright morning dew

behind each mask no ordinary face

but visage bearing some immortal sign

come down to us from the ancestral race

as sign and symbol of a truth divine

for who we are and for the paths we tread

the times are clear and the meanings dread

in the garden one fine day

now there's full green and truly honest leaf

on both our maples so we say the spring

has really come and hearts may duly sing

of happy changes and complete relief

for though we know that every joy is brief

and what hard messages each day may bring

for this short time at least some bells should ring

allowing us forgetfulness of grief

what we each know is not all that is known

beneath the sun of that at least i'm sure

there's more to life than simple blood and bone

nor is the world one giant ghastly tomb

for see the rose and iris are in bloom

bitter lemons

so many long to have a golden king

for certainties amid the roil and noise

and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

in urgent times there is nothing to bring

that will secure against what most annoys

so many long to have a golden king

as being for now the most important thing

to guarantee the safety of their joys

and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

of better hours when they were on the wing

and deadly forces were not kept as toys

so many long to have a golden king

who do not wish their liberty to fling

so cavalierly with such little poise

and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

since all the world is trapped inside one ring

and none can tell just what the rest enjoys

so many long to have a golden king

and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

in spring new horrors

few are the leaves and buds late on these trees

that heart grows weak and even time might ail

as weathers slowly change while the clouds sail

above our heads driven by random breeze

towards the east nothing that wants to please

our needy minds as this brief cold must fail

the warmth return before our hopes turn stale

and just in time our anger turn to ease

but in the night some matters are too deep

for ordinary dreams and break my rest

to let me know that there is no mistake

relief shall not be granted by kind sleep

the warmth of bed is not a comfy nest

but there are worse fates than coming awake