If Life should ever close her knowing eyes;
Would Death erase her codicil of light?
Could Life give o’r to Death in silent cries
Of helplessness — as day becomes the night.
Oft times there runs a melancholic blight
To sap the vigor of a pleasant day —
What’s in a name? A hidden joy despite
These many wretched thoughts that find their way.
Yet in the dark recesses — Life’s bouquet?
A nosegay gathered from our simple past,
Reminds us in our age, the need to play:
To live, enjoy; what’s now can never last.
Will you, this tiny posy’s scent adore?
Or seek the stench of false blooms evermore.