Daily—Old Tale
If one's heart is broken twenty times a day,
What easier thing than to fling the bits away,
But still one gathers fragments, and looks for wire,
Or patches it up like some old bicycle tyre.
Bicycle tyres fare hardly on roads, but the heart
Has an easier time than rubber, they sheathe a cart
With iron; so lumbering and slow my mind must be made,
To bother the heart and to teach things and learn it its trade.
What easier thing than to fling the bits away,
But still one gathers fragments, and looks for wire,
Or patches it up like some old bicycle tyre.
Bicycle tyres fare hardly on roads, but the heart
Has an easier time than rubber, they sheathe a cart
With iron; so lumbering and slow my mind must be made,
To bother the heart and to teach things and learn it its trade.
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