Tis not methinks after all
‘The winter of our discontent’
Tis merely the autumn:
Of our recourse?
Aye verily;
Of anticipation?
Nay, never the fall
Whilst such beauty still, abounds us.
Therefore
We must be of good cheer
Gather up our dreams
Darn our socks and other things
And, be us prepared
Yet
Not too prepossessed.
Be us merely as ever my friend
The eternal pragmatist.
Thus with high head and God sped
The Motley, the Trouper, the SHOW
Goes on!
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