The world is what it is, no more, no less.
Take heart, you tender dreamer, tortured youth.
I was like you. I writhed before the "truth"
I saw through eyes corrupted by distress.
My early verses and their squall oppress
With leaden fog and savage tiger's tooth,
And all in vain, my brother. Pain, forsooth,
Must follow curses laid on happiness.
You melancholy dancer, fledgeling bard,
Let's sing of Hope together, you and I,
That we may one day find the joy that some
At ease discover, though we find it hard.
I charge you, do not let your yearnings lie
But rise to meet them, seize ye what may come.
George Chadderdon © 1995