By now you know
Things don’t go
As you like them to,
The plans you make
Do easily break
Little you can do.
Your morn’s hopes
With the day elopes
Aspirations sink,
Your rosiest thought
Turns to naught
Loses the pink.
The patch of blue
Without a clue
Is painted gray,
The spot of sunlight
Goes out of sight
Before you make hay.
Sudden are the slips
Words from your lips
You don’t mean to,
You pick up a row
Turn a friend foe
Little you can do.