A BENDER AND SOME OF THE MOODS THAT LEAD UP TO IT.

When days are long and nights are dull, And life seems deathly still, And wretched insects buzz and buzz Against the window sill, One balances the force of “Won’t” Against the force of Will. I live upon the outer edge, And on the desert’s rim, And sometimes query, in a tone Quite humourless and grim, Is life, indeed, a mere burlesque? Some Potent Joker’s whim? I give the Desert stare for stare, We never fraternise; For me the siren has no voice, For her I have no eyes, And whipcord couldn’t link us twain In peaceful marriage ties. She’s clothed in desolation’s garb, And visaged like the Sphinx; Too close communion oft begets Those tortured mental kinks That populate the upper end Of men who mix their drinks. She brings no help to sling a rhyme That sniggers as it goes ... Sometimes a thought comes limping in With sand between its toes, A well-developed polypus Somewhere within its nose. But when its wares are spread upon The operating sheet I mostly find them shadow hash, With very little meat, And so I shoot them out the door To give the dog a treat. There’s something in the very air Of torture, finely spun; The weight of care that bears me down Weighs mighty near a ton; The breakfast steak tastes like a brick, The spuds are underdone. The whole world’s badly out of joint, And shaky at the knees; And that old trouble with my back It hints of Bright’s disease, And barley-water in a ward, And thumping doctors’ fees. The touch of ’flu I caught last month Grows daily worse and worse: ’Tis sure my plan to keep afloat Till time and tide reverse, Is, Take a load of beer aboard, And jettison my purse! For one must never count the cost When health is in the scales And dull-eyed devils roost upon One’s mental boundary rails, Nor bend an over-fearful ear To timid travellers’ tales. The same old wild and woolly whirl Along the same old track, Outpacing sundry ills I have, To garner those I lack! —And so, I slither down to hell (But have to hoof it back). Then Reason riots wild awhile, With bells upon her cap, Until the last resource is sped Of coin, or kid, or strap; And then—I come back smiling, a Rejuvenated chap!