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.