I knew a gallant man from a green isle,
Who’d landed here with luck I’ve never known
With cunning wit, great charm, and what a smile -
Though sharp of tongue, with kindness always shone.
But like a spring’s fresh rain or summer’s sun
Which, though loved, are done so pass’vly and
Are only praised and mourned when come undone
When winter’s merc’less cold sweeps o’er the land,
So too was this fine fellow’s mercy lost,
Looked o’er in light of seem’ly greater parts
Until a bill’wing storm lay siege and tossed
This gentle man and tore his tender heart.
But this was no impassive tempest, no,
Those clouds cry loudest, thundering their woe.
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hm_elimatt's journal
