The Pessimist

Nothing to do but work,
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes
To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air,
Quick as a flash 't is gone;

Nowhere to fall but off,
Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair,
Nowhere to sleep but in bed,

Nothing to weep but tears,
Nothing to bury but dead.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.