'Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When life is all too short for love;
But we, away from our own kind,
A different life can live and prove.
'Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When life is all too short for love;
But we, away from our own kind,
A different life can live and prove.
But 'tis a wretched life to face
Hunger in almost every place;
Cursed with a hand that's empty, when
The heart is full to help all men.
My friends are real, though very few.
Now shall I dance,
Or sit for dreams?
No matter where the body is, the mind is free to go elsewhere.
Life and death, my fairest one,
Thy lover is a skeleton!
To see his face was health and life,
And when it was denied,
She could not eat, and broke her heart --
It was for love she died.
Indeed this is the sweet life!
This life is sweetest; in this wood
I hear no children cry for food;
I see no woman, white with care;
No man, with muscled wasting here.
Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,
Let's grimly kiss with bated breath;
As quietly and solemnly
As Life when it is kissing Death.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories