As you walk the lonely road. . . Mile after mile Without expected blessing, This may be your trial. But if you’ve done what you can And still must wait awhile; Don’t give up my faithful friend— Delay is not denial.
“Come into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly. “There’s a special treat I would love you to try, And a prettier parlor you never will see. . . Come in, come in, and dine with me!” So goes an old story of deception and lies; You know how it ends—one of them dies.
Easter, yes, that holiday That signals start of spring— That marks rebirth, renewal, And all that sort of thing. It brings bouquets of flowers In yellows, pinks, and blue, And cheerful eggs that have been dipped In dye of every hue.
Doing laundry is such a chore. Sort the colors? I ask what for? Then throwing whites with red and green, I toss them all in the wash-machine. But all my smugness turns to dread When all the whites go tie-dye red!