MY CHEST RANSACKING
As in my chest I often look,
I sometimes am inclined
To write within this little book,
Stray thoughts that there I find.
Not for their intrinsic merit,
Much less, their classic style,
Nor dreaming they'll ere prove profit,
Simply an hour beguile.
And then it is pleasant to know,
There are thoughts roaming about,
Which the tongue unable to show,
The pen perchance will bring out,
For when alone at work I've sat,
Or strayed from mates apart,
I have loved my chest to ransack,
And search o'er all my heart.
Strange parcels there, oft meet my view,
Heart yearnings far from gay,
Sunshine and cloud of every hue,
Compose these motley lays.
This rubbish is of me a part,
And shows a varied mood,
Not meant for all, but those whose heart
With mine is in attune.
By: CLARA G-OWING