THOUGHTS THOUGHT WHILST MOWIN’ THE LAWN ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON

O Circus Day! So very brief art thou, From early morn when first doth rise the tent Till midnight comes and all the show hath went; Thou 'rt like a swiftly passin' dream. Oh, how I wish the laggin' tasks that wet the brow With per-spi-ra-tion (sweat is what I meant) Would haste as thou dost haste. How different This world wouldst be from what we find it now!

Or 'twouldst be better still if time wouldst pass, Whilst laughin' at the antics of the clown, As slow as run'st the sands within the glass Whilst I, 'neath sun that almost melts me down, Must mow the lawn. O Fate, why must, alas! Thy smile be so much shorter than thy frown?