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Threnody
The first of May was always for play
and not to ponder lost futures upon.
But now I'll think of souls in disarray
as well as spring fresh afternoons anon.
I wish the glory of the season
might transform itself somewhat, somehow,
into a surplus of hope and reason
which may uplift the downturned brow.
I'd sweep away all thoughts of worthlessness
and the frettings that fate will bring us thorns
instead of abundant mirthfulness,
and grace, amid cornucopian horns.
So when to sunshine the bleak skies give way,
may the May pole cherubs...return...to stay.
and not to ponder lost futures upon.
But now I'll think of souls in disarray
as well as spring fresh afternoons anon.
I wish the glory of the season
might transform itself somewhat, somehow,
into a surplus of hope and reason
which may uplift the downturned brow.
I'd sweep away all thoughts of worthlessness
and the frettings that fate will bring us thorns
instead of abundant mirthfulness,
and grace, amid cornucopian horns.
So when to sunshine the bleak skies give way,
may the May pole cherubs...return...to stay.
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