When the wood floors at long last turned deep brown
The gold hidden inside was just a prose
Of the old dust which from my chest arose
For all the ample sins you had to frown.
And if I ever find you back in town
I will not fear another beaming dose.
For this uneven guilt that I impose,
I will perpetually be your clown.
Lying within the wintry weather mold
There is no doubt you will find the straight route
For all the stories that you once foretold
And the crooked plans we'll never unfold
But even the strongest and greenest sprout
Will have no chance to see spring and grow old.
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