Tis But a Squall

Short and sweet the day may be,
But not enough. Eventually
Spring may turn to summer, then fall;
Then fall becomes a winter maul
That takes the day down to size;
And such a thing some here may prize.
Yet soon the days begin to thaw, and May
Comes rolling round, another day
Becomes the rolling plains of grass and wheat;
Proclaiming winter's death, the defeat
Of snow and cold, the frost and chill
Now flee! the sound of birds doth fill
The crisp cut air that's turning warm;
Prepare we now, an ungodly storm
Approaches fast as lightning gone;
Before it's done the day will be wan
As milk that's left to curd into cheese.
Comes round the giant stormy freeze
To contend with the Spring,
Hail doth it's billowing bring,
Wind and rain to chill my spleen!
But little damage doth May seem
To take from this monstrosity;
It counts it but as little, a mere fee,
A sufferance that must be met
Lest executioners take la tête
De la pleasure from life eternal;
For this is life, and it is full
Of recompense and little woes;
This storm is but a storm of shows
That vainly tries to fight against
What is in truth always hell bent
To be, has always been, and is...
I guess such shows did business
Only, and no play at all in their lives,
Did shirk love, no hope in their eyes,
Did seek but the goods of others who have made
What they did see as good, but a promenade
Of pomp and vanity that's weak!
That is all a storm is, so to speak.

So in the springtime consider well,
Lest you falter in the storm; I tell
You not a single pain endured for love
Will go unnoticed from above.

When in Springtime you find yourself,
Life seems good, surrounded by wealth
Of friends, good fortune, and family,
Benefits as far ranging as the sea,
Consider well the storm on the horizon;
Weather it well my friend, do not shun
The message it has for you.
To yourself, always be true.

Tis But a Squall, (c) Luke Bennette, September, 2012