Sky high noses and other trifles
Days are slow, my mornings more so I am thoroughly caught up in the Middlemarch affair My world is pretty much small, its trifles are happy trifles Like the papain syrup I have to feed my cats two times a day On days when boredom sets in I listen to a bountiful of gossips which my lover joyfully dispenses I bet there is immense joy in the mundane Like I know more about those worlds that remotely intersects with my perceptions Observe, my friend, observe and life slips by Like petals on a dark rainy day Ah, those who used to boast about their sky-high noses Never missing a mark to be a Pharisee Have crooked ones now Their haughtiness has given way to doom I, on the other hand, think about major prospects Like a drowsy noon day Where I never bother to unclasp the eccentricities of his fingers and die dreaming.
