Posted in Poetry, Priscilla's Posts

The Pessimist

We used to play we were a radio station and record it on tape. This is a poem that Josiah (the second oldest) read one time on the station. 

The Pessimist

 

Nothing to do but work,

Nothing to eat but food;

Nothing to ware but clothes

To keep one from going nude.

 

Nothing to breath but air,

Quick as a flash ‘tis gone;

Nowhere to fall but off’,

Nowhere to stand but on.

 

Nothing to comb but hair’

Nowhere to sleep but in bed;

Nothing to weep but tears,

Nothing to bury but dead.

 

Nothing to sing but songs;

Ah, well, alas! alack!

Nowhere to go but out,

Nowhere to come but back.

 

Nothing to see but sights,

Nothing to quench but thirst;

Nothing to have but what we’ve got;

Thus thro’ life we are cursed.

 

Nothing to strike but a gait;

Everything moves that goes.

Nothing at all but common sense

Can ever withstand these woes.

 

~Ben King~

What about the Isrealites? Nothing to eat but manna. Lord help us to be more appreciative of our many blessings!