 |
|
| A Just Diagnosis -- corrected In a dark and dreary chamber The frightened patient sits and listens Listens to his poor heart beating Listens to his fevered breathing Listens to a world that's fleeting While the sun is ever fading His hands, they tremble with his fear And as his doctor bows his head And bends to offer him his ear, He turns away in solemn dread For he knows his end is near What more is there left for him But the word of this trained man Sorry nods and soft words, said And hopes and lies, he'll be fed When he knows soon, he'll be dead And in the ground--his final bed Before his life had but begun And he could make it anything He had taken Joy and run Unaware of his own ending This mess was all his own sad fault Perhaps this was reason for his tears For, had he known better, surely He would not be in such misery And sitting, crying, most absurdly Over his pettiness and stupidity For, the sun would still be shining In its hopeful, pleasant way And he, himself, would be smiling At another cheerful day But, he had made his own end The sad and sorry sight he was But even now one felt pity For the creature at age fifty Who'd ruined all when young and witty His life could have once been pretty But, now he knew the full extent Of every evil he once had done And every bit of life ill-spent Was reason why it'd soon be gone |
|