An Ode

No happy man ever sat in his chair,
Of wicker strung and with a solemn air,
Beneath his eyes,
Turned lines to rivers as in a creek,
Dropping rivulets down his hollow cheek,
Rocking back and forth under a vermilion sky,
Spoke nay his lips for want of reason why,
A hot breath upon his lids, they droop,
A welcome friend, come to share a bowl of carrot soup.

A glimpse, a flash of grey and white,
Kiss'd the corner of vision, then melt'd into the night,
Shivering rifle cocked, did against his beard rustle,
Silence fired from his upheld muzzle.
Though still keen, the old man upon his wooden deck did stay,
Felt a part of him, he did, from him, had gone astray,
Coz' though unfettered we stand, the weight of fortune, change and time,
How does one stand amidst the crumbling pieces that fall,
Shed by an unerring conviction we might have lost it all?

And though alone, we leave our old friend to deliberate,
With melancholy to parch his dreams with hate,
For lucky he was, when 6 years afore, on a Devil's gambit,
Rung a shot from his gun that struck the Wascally Wabbit,
And now lonely he felt, our Elmer Fudd,
Eating carrot soup, in memory of his old pal Bugs'.


Happy 'Remember your childhood week' to all