Young children eternally seem
to dwell in their own kind of dream,
inclusive of laughter
that now and hereafter
might hurl every sorrow downstream.

I helped with some children today
They all raced hotly to play
there were balls bouncing high
Right up to the sky
And little ones rolling in hay

Your beautiful fingers appear
to make every meaning more clear
as each of your ankles
does nothing that rankles
the world's constant wish to seem dear.

I gladly might always thrive hotly
though now I keep wearing strange motley
and scuffing my shoes
while frazzling a fuse,
as if to stay spiffily-shotly.

I personally focus on life
Even though sometimes it does bring me strife
For while death will occur
I think I'll demur
From cutting my throat with a knife

The brilliance of certain cool plants
assists us in doing life's dance.
Mere ferns yield examples
of breath that quite samples
the glory inherent in death.

I really love a delicate fern
their greeness just makes me yearn
for coolness in shade
for the sun's over played
I want shadows without heat that burns.

My wishes include that you learn
all glory that fashions a fern,
though you now stay brighter
than might be some blighter
whose heart is an absolute churn.

My sleepy old body seems ready
to turn countless worlds quite unsteady
and foster a church
that put in a lurch
might not let one neck appear heady.

She's given to gentle kind ways
that brighten all hours, weeks, and days
and cause her behaving
to wake not much raving
that replicates glory that strays.

Whatever the moon could recover
was held or was told ways to hover,
and latest reports
provided these snorts
that mention each hour as a glover.

To get to the heart of much matter,
we gathered why grease has to spatter
might honestly be
that some grease must free
its heat --- or grow fatter and fatter.

The 'poisson' I crave seems too fishy,
though -- also -- entirely quite dishy,
and I thus feel sure
of modes to endure
that foster large motion right swishy.

Sometimes the person we want
stays out of sight and quite errant
we have to just live
even though we feel miffed
else life just turns into existence.

Your beauty and you drove right by
my body as it heaved a sigh,
a sigh not quite hugeish
yet I might seem stoogeish
if I once declared: "You're no sky!"

I haven't observed scads of skies,
though some that I've seen have seemed prize,
yet much of that ceiling
called "welkin" I'm squealing
has spouted too many loud lies.

We soon might broach absolute bliss
by mixing scant rye with our Swiss
and lending all sailing
those kinds of availing
that wake a quite lovely abyss.

But perhaps we can talk of joy
and happiness now my dear boy
for sadness abounds
in my middle around
where fat seems to have had a ploy

The silken reflections you offer
propose that most thought is a scoffer,
and I now agree
that every world's free
to love all the sorrow worlds proffer.

The best thing to do, in some cases,
may be to make many glad faces
and thus to imply
that nary one sky
enumerates any disgraces?

Well crying does let it all out
and once done you can then give a shout
and do something that's fun
even go out for a bun
and all sadness can then seem in doubt.

I'm hoping I'll move toward fine leaping
and far from horrifically creeping,
as life is a war
demanding we store
much else besides versions of weeping.

Poor you Bruce you do sound in the dumps!
Well at least you haven't got mumps...
I hope life gets better
Just wear a new sweater
And try and get joy in some jumps

Devoid I have been of distress,
yet, though all my life seems a mess,
I may have developed
some sorrow enveloped
in shapes many forces might bless.

Our moments of trying to state
our part in life's endless debate
indeed may cause clauses
that brim with more pauses
than ever yet crammed any slate.