A Bit of a Kant
I would write you words that would make you smile
Of meadows and may flies and a love that lasted
I would sing songs of beauty that would you, beguile
If I weren’t such a miserable bastard.
And I’d paint with my words such wonderous things:
Summer ponds where the butterflies flit
And mountain streams fed by snow melting springs
If I weren’t such a grumpy old git.
In autumn I’d set down in ink of bright gold
The delights of a gambolling otter
Whose play would be there for you to behold
If I weren’t an irascible rotter.
Then in winter, I’d write about flurries of snow
Whipping round the wolf on the hunt
While we wrap ourselves warm by the embers’ bright glow
If I weren’t a cantankerous old so and so.
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