An Old Poem

Winter At the Inn

My merry muse departs, with all her train
of sweet beguilers. Fare you well, O joys
and gentle smiles, brave banisher of pain
stout laughter, all you valiant natural foes
of this old man Despair. Come back in spring,
and I will entertain you with the crumbs
this grimmer guest, who cannot smile or sing,
may overlook; and, when the summer comes,
we'll turn him out, we'll laugh him off the place--
Together we can do it, you and I--
Alone I am no match for him; his face
defies me to evict him. With a sigh,
spreading his bed of spikes, he takes his rest,
as if it were his house, and I the guest.

By JRC