The Disenchanted Life.
Pragmatic is, I fear, thy sight and sound,
And to thee all doth concur,
No whimsical flavour taints life’s dish,
No alternate view doth once occur.
For the paint brush thy hath wrought on life,
Hath dishevelled its real charms,
And the quill with which thy tell its tales,
Leaves it wanton seeking alms.
Yet never once doth it pose, nor dawn on thee,
That thine vast opinion could be wrong,
A philosophical or more idealistic thought,
In thine head doth not belong.
For though rich it may be this life we have,
And filled with all things good,
Thy cup ye bare is ever half empty,
Thus the trees remain obscured by the wood.
Written by Tracey Odessa Kane 5th May 2015 ©
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