What light through yonder window breaks
When the dew is on the morn?
What sadness in my soul doth make
When not yet have I been born?
My fractured foot will heal one day
And disappear into the mist
Of dark and crowded highways
Says my fair podiatrist.
For I have slipped upon bananas!
And now I must stay put,
That’s what she says her plan is,
Until I’m black with soot.
These sad forebodings of things to come
E’er in my ears doth ring.
I dream of curds and chewing gum,
And no birds sing.