His Small Dark Man; our minds lovingly serenaded,
through the warmth - the faint buzz from the downy
salubrity of a brain to which no bird ever flew on one wing!

An’ so clarity, somewhat vague, paid for by a sorehead,
Leaves us a solid truth; that men are forever at war with women,
Forever being defeated and accepting this defeat as Victory,

Minute wheels spin endlessly yet happiness is static,
Measured out to the minutest drop – never increased,
Never depleted – Unchangeable in all lives; Men or Cabbages!

Simple visions of a life less extraordinary with faith in the ability,
To bid farewell – a gesture that had in it a fine dignity,
And yet a terrible finality; I must speak to Maurice more.