in proper haste

there is no colour left on this old day

and meaning cannot wait for rising moon

truth is conveyed to us by a buffoon

 

you make  a choice and then you have to play

life turns on what is not truly a boon

there is no colour left on this old day

 

the very silence knows that what you say

is matter for some summer afternoon

but we are in the realm of swift lampoon

there is no colour left on this old day