Today it's once again a sorrow,
Tomorrow it will be a strain,
The day after tomorrow'll bring a hollow,
A void, a stillness, a relentless pain.

Time threatens me with the advance of sickness
Of mind that's torn with dread of coming day.
In sleepless nights I sit and beg for solace,
Seek pen and paper needful to complain.

I write about things of no importance,
About days and nights I spend in dreamless trance.
My mind admits no measures, nor proportions,
All's terminal - to that it's reconciled.

In blues like this no living passion
Ignites in me a spark of kind response.
I'll turn to verse - the verse'll give me a measure
Of peaceful, irresistible remorse.