September 14, 2012 | Leave a comment They shall all come now, and that is the pity, Their pity, To talk turns around It And how bad it has been found to be How they are filled with woe and rue And how long it leaves for The narrowed foreshortened list That naïve expectations sketched And an unplanned plan firmed up With derogations and compromises. Will they ever talk of something else? All our snacks and “good mornings” now shackled In that gray pity. How they plan for a misery. Yes, let’s test. Test and measure and educate a guess So they can be almost certain of their piteous curtailment, Of a few Summers less, Of birthday songs that ring like a lament. So I can know how long I have left to sing and be happy. Share on Facebook