each writes the tale upon a
golden leaf
no safer record for so short a time
age after age the truth beggars
belief
we think that honest labour is a
crime
when all our hopes are cast into the
slime
your choice is simple just cast out
the blame
the monster's wild that you thought
mild and tame
no hope is placed in partner or in
friend
who knows the rules of this most
profane game
we seek the melted snow of last
weekend
the winner turns out just one more
old thief
who casts his words in good
old-fashioned rhyme
and promises that he'll be firmly
brief
but does not move you into the
sublime
before the clock has uttered its
first chime
such matters will not lead you out of
shame
but are the sort of thing that fools
might claim
to make you bow or lead you now to
bend
hoping to turn you from your steady
aim
we seek the melted snow of last
weekend
pain of great loss produces no more
grief
than could be borne in such a foreign
clime
as this there is no wisdom seeks
relief
or hopes to gain a dollar or a dime
we've reached the bottom and we must
now climb
past all the horrors that we cannot
name
knowing that no good thought will
stay the same
and that our duty no one would
commend
still though our feet are tired and
very lame
we seek the melted snow of last
weekend
prince you have mastery of wind and
flame
your state is great in glory and
acclaim
but to this act you may not
condescend
beyond the limits of the human frame
we seek the melted snow of last
weekend