Where has the joy disappeared,
Over the first drops of rain?
Where is it lost,
Even on seeing the sun shine once again?
Is it also gone,
From seeing a bud unfold and grow?
From sitting around a fire
To exchange tales and lore?
Will we never be happy now,
Over little notes and gifts of love?
Maybe just a wee trinklet,
A book or a dove!
Let's just suffice it to say,
We are above all these trifles now;
We don't know of their beauty,
Or even exactly as to they feel how!
