"Oh!" my wretched soul aloud sighed
In lamentation over its solitude,
For in vain its happiness hangs
Thus cannot rest more on earthly bliss.
And countless of homilies have I heard
More oft than dialy bread
From different parsons, pastors, and persons sent,
Yet melting merriment merry meet.
But just too well too late
The Holy Spirit to me spake
That the choice is merely mine
To seek true hope from Jesus's pouch,
That whether in him believe and happiness have
By walking faithfully on paradise course
Or reject him and eternal regrets get
By charging on with lunacy on perdition's
Path. Please, let me alone with godly choice
To know what joy salvation really brings
Through what Christ alone in  Calvary did
By giving what verily matters to the world!
And to this new unquenchable truth aligned myself
Not to misplace again priorities first; instead
Gracefully and obediently walk toward that home,
Where my mansion be a stately stead.

Just looking before I leap,
Musing with my lone self deep:

Betwixt her gracious sweet lips
And her honeyed graceful hips,
Which should I first of jolly take
That will not my gay heart break?

That fire, how slowly it's now been dying
Away, which mirthfully hitherto blazed--
When first love was freshly flaming
In the heart of those newly hitched!
For their peat's become cold with friction,
So their hearth's running out of affection.

She, good signor, whom in stormy sea
With thee faithfully and firmly stood--
Steadying the family boat with fasting
And prayer whilst thou hard wert  rowing
Against tempest--should nay in peace
And prosperity be by thy head misunderstood
Nor for another girl be in thine eyes contemned,
Lest by heaven thy new blessing is ******.

She loveth me nay--
           The supermodel--
       Cause my pocket is lean.
          But I did apace tell
         Her as she's sashay-
Ing along that "I'm no James Dean:
That Hollywood icon and superstar,
Who was by his acting rich in dollar;
But that i'm a poet, writing poetry."
So contemn me not, sultry popsy.

As though the breeze would carry
Her words across the sea
Right from within this cosy bower
To some far away places
And be heard also in the palace
Of the Queen of England,
When she whispered to me--my grand--
Delightful dame, in the raw:
"Art thou a one-trick pony
In play, my stallion honey?"
"Nay!" quipped I with guffaw.
I can mount fore and aft,
Thy fount, as it's apt.
Then did I turn on the shower--
The showers of blessing on her with care
From the station she did to me declare.
And therefrom I did hence perspire,
Besides, in deference to her soul's desire.

Certainly time will blow the memory
By and by of our existence away.
Only our shadows will then remain verily
In words and deeds, anyway.
Few our efforts and names will recall in this place,
Nonentity or celebrity, king or slave
And even the affluence in life now displays
Will surely melt and slide into darkness itself,
For despite the greatness of our achievements
Into oblivion all men shall sink
While the gist and praise of today's glories
From distant lands someday will echo back.
We're born to die once and die to live again,
Yet none shall live more who die not born again.