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.