Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.
The friends I made have slipped and strayed,
And whos the one who cares?
A trifling lot and best forgot ~
And thats my tale and theirs.
Then if my friendships break and bend,
Theres little need to cry
The while I know that every foe
Is faithful till I die.
A VERY SHORT SONG
Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad ~
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.
Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.
They hail you as their morning star
Because you are the way you are.
If you return the sentiment,
Theyll try to make you different;
And once they have you safe and sound,
They want to change you all around.
Your moods and ways they put a curse on;
They'd make of you another person.
They cannot let you go your gait;
They influence and educate.
They'd alter all that they admired.
They make me sick, they make me tired.
When I was young and bold and strong,
O, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
Come out, you dogs, and fight! said I,
And wept there was but once to die.
But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won ~
The difference is small, my son."
Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Gas smells awful ~
You might as well live.
The first time I died, I walked my ways;
I followed the file of limping days.
I held me tall, with my head flung up,
But I dared not look on the new moons cup.
I dared not look on the sweet young rain,
And between my ribs was a gleaming pain.
The next time I died, they laid me deep.
They spoke worn words to hallow my sleep.
They tossed me petals, they wreathed me fern;
They weighted me down with a marble urn.
And I lie here warm, and I lie here dry,
And watch the worms slip by, slip by.