oh, how ruddy life can be.
I see the world all pink and sweet,
winsome shiny childhood treat.
Or are they bubbles? Maybe so.
How do they hold on and grow?
Do they at end of some fall day
gently let go and float away?
Or marbles? Aggies by the ton.
Glossy red globes that capture the sun.
I can’t figure what, these dangles glorious;
I can but gawk at such richness arboreous.