If Bane Of Joys Be Blasé

Listening to joyous jig that sayeth: Like life, the joys on earth mundane are made, As all things born alive sooner get dead, O Dance of Life, ye too shall lose thine breath. Man's bliss designed neither long nor yet rife, I wonder if man wary be of spring, Monsoon might come, clouds of sorrows to bring, No matter what, in sorrows sink man's life. And moments of joy harder get to hail, If fleeting springs are deemed seasons unfair, As darkling clouds of despair always tail, It's sad, but man's given O to despair. Let mundane me then small passing joys chase, Not ecstasies, should boon of joys turn blasé'! ___________________________________________ Sonnets | 04.10.10 |