And if my pen should cease
to write in rhyme
what I wonder
would I do with my time,

how dull t’ would be
for mind and eye,
the wonder of a moment
pass me by,

and if the passion
in my soul should wane
would I look on it all as
just mundane,

not see the tear, sense the fear
or feel the flame,
not record it all in metered frame,

and if it were to be this way
how sad would be
my every day.