How Many Times

Times so full of grief and sorrow Tears fall and feelings so hollow Woeful days as Mr. Impecunious Dutifully and lovingly studious The morrow does not bring relief Rather just the same emotional thief Pilfering puny pockets, he strays One hand fastidious and gay But he shouts to the sky that is gray Calls wonders down from heaven's fray Save me, and shout down from above Grace envelop and stay his hand's love Not to be slayed by the thief's churlish touts Of his winning ways, God surreptiously left out In my pockets, so empty of radiant doves With his hammer in hand, I don these holy gloves Save me