Let our child within be glad,
never at an old age be sad
and may us never be had
in the slip of tongue, eh gad.
This we can not even do sleeping
ere not kept or even flourish,
so who in breast of the world
will not let the child go weeping,
while the lines of poetry nourish
and the games we play, twirled.
Perish cares that rule and pine,
for on them the Devil will dine,
rather by HIM be said "mine"
for joy and love to intertwine.
With the loveliest and the best
that with rolling time hath pressed
and by Saints and Sages discussed
with joy we have passed the test
so with this joy our lives are blessed
and the child within can we always trust.
Now we make merry in the hearts room
leave readers dressed in a new bloom,
descend ourselves comfort for whom
who would have sprinkles of gloom
which is a thought we do not frequent.
So together in the universe knowing
children joined hands willy-nilly going,
Saints and Sages know no argument
because now the why is always flowing
and the reason for poetry is growing. |
