funny poem

i walk down the garden paths
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
a flying word from here and there
the body may confine
do the boys and girls still go
i cannot always feel his greatness
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
calm as that second summer
the air is like a butterfly
my mother taught me that every night
there is a country full of wine
sad are they who know not love
there is no escape by the river
therefore i may not