The Poet’s Dream

You tell me not to worry sir,

     To be of goodly cheer;

You say to smile and care beguile,

     To hope, but never fear.

You tell me to look up not down,

     To sorrow ne’er allow;

You say to smile, and care beguile,

     And keep a placid brow.

It is a happy thing to preach,

     A God-inspiring theme;

But at the best – excuse the jest,

     ‘Tis but a poet’s dream.

The man serene, who sorrows not,

     Knows not of life a part;

He cannot know life’s ebb and flow

     Without a wounded heart.

For months have I been out of work,

     My flesh has cried for bread;

Twice death has left our hearth bereft,

     Twice faith and hope lay dead.

And yet you bid me to be of cheer,

     To lead the merry throng;

You bid me smile, and care beguile,

     And greet the morn with song.

To smile is good, to sing is good,

     It lights the gloomy day;

The heart can rise to meet the skies,

     When grief is laid away.

When chimneys smoke, when health is near,

     When larders grown and teem,

Then we can smile, and care beguile,

     And share the poet’s dream.

Sept. 23, ‘09

                (Two of Joe and Emma’s children died in infancy)