Sonnet CXXVII

Oh Sadness, put your work to other things;
don’t pester me again; life has been good.
Without your sullen face my joy can sing,
not jailed, imprisoned like some plank of wood.

Oh Sadness, how unfair you are to me.
A year or so without you – as you loomed
in darkness, then attacking suddenly.
No warning, only swift and sudden gloom.

How dismal, seeing all the greys again,
the thunder, rain, and lightening of your youth,
despair and death, prophetic wickedness,
the dreaded, painful curse of cruel disdain,
the world becoming more and more uncouth...
Oh Sadness, why? Where is my happiness?