Laugh at me, little child,

Laugh,

At my bowed head

At the gathering of merry,

At my cracked lips devoid

Of words that drip like honey

But only leak sour drops of truth.

Laugh at my grotesque costume

Of scars and wrinkles,

The flakes of snow that

Cover the paths on my scalp,

Laugh at my joints that lack grease

And these stubborn feetat war with the soil.

Laugh,

At the corridors of my eyes

Made black from the fumes of life's furnace,

And the deep gallows from which

They peer at the world.

Laugh at my rigid soul

Unmoved by beauty and melody,

And my frozen tongue

Betrayed by the luxurious taste of food,

Laugh at the wooden pillar

That supports my failing framework,

And the rags that are to me silk.

Laugh child,

Laugh all that you can,

For the green leaf that mocks the withering yellow

Must have forgotten the earth still revolves.