The Pills

The pills, a thousand, they must taste like fall…
With the wind hushing the coos, coos flown South,
The South where it’s well, where the flowers now call,
The flowers all red, with perfume and pout.

But there he sits happy, smiling at the wind,
A wind with leaves that once greened eyes,
Eyes that browned, like leaves, like sinned,
The sinned forgiven, like new leaves arise.

Ah! Dance! For spring shan’t be far…
For in hope he lives, as we wipe our tears.
He looks and smiles and waves from far,
And we taste his sweet pills, that sugar our fears…