The baby yells
and she tells
       him
about the sweets
    awaiting
        him
in the shadows ahead
sweets are mysteries
        she coos
and babies are so cuddly
like warm-blooded teddies
        giggle baby giggle
        drool baby drool
        dribble baby dribble
            kick baby kick
till the sun winks a smile
and the moon shines a lullaby

there are certain lessons
that life always guarantees
so, no matter how long it takes
we always come full cycle in the end
living with and loving a ******
is foolhardy and always misfires -
girl he will prize you away from decency
and love your money like a mad schemer
till the dead man weeps in his grave
weeps the tears of a sightless cadaver
whose one -time true love has gone bad
whose children are strangers and captives
in a home their father bequethed
now this smooth operator, sideburns, cigars and all
reclines in the dead man's armchair
and sips the dead man's vintage whiskey
in a vile act of virulent disrespect
and the voluptuous widow
worships the ground he walks on
she rolls around the house to please him
as her dead husband's children join the orchestra
of too many children weeping

the museums
the art galleries
all had he visited
     van gough
     rembrandt
     dali
    picasso
knew he all
and their works
   paintings
   drawings
  sculptures
 and etchings
surrealist and  cubist
and he dazzled his audiences
with his vast store of fact and opinion
        till the sorry drunk
        troubled his thoughts
       with accounts of john next door
the man who visited
      when our man was on  his rounds
      giving erudite talks
and bargaining with dealers in antiques

these joys are sacred and precious
you partake of them if you're serious
but you best flee if you're just curious
these joys are cosmic and rarefied
they shower you with the sweet abundance
of seasons of plenty when harvests are a surfeit
when you can withdraw into secret places
and there gorge yourself on shapely pleasures
and dissipate in tender exertions on an unmade bed

In that moment for mementos
When everything will stand still
We shall remember sentimental tokens
Of promises made in the heat of an embrace
And feel that we let slip drafts of elevated joy