[Roger Slater]

Lament

My heart is a lonely partygoer,
a blade of grass beneath a mower,
a summer breeze defiled by skunk
when sorrow throws me in a funk.

It used to pump my blood with glee
but now it's of no use to me
since every beat it sadly thumps
drives me further in the dumps.

Someday I hope my heart will wake
to see it's all a big mistake,
no need for cardiac arrest,
no need to even be depressed,

and then, I hope, my heart, grown hardy,
won't be lonesome at the party.