Working on the trinity ploy
My mind feels like a toy
And in the hustle bustle wiz
I enter into big show biz
A big old life awaits me
On stage and screen you’ll see
But concentrating on the prize
I cannot focus on the lies
The lies of old that I’ve retold
In manners often very bold
As winter becomes very cold
And life itself seems to scold
Sleepless nights confuse me
And sleepless nights bemuse me
In the day the heavens bright
And in the darkness of the night
And Shakespeare says what dreams may come
Dreams of a king dreams of a shlum
And holding on to all the ties
We should not focus on the lies
The lies of that we’ve retold
In manners often very bold
As winter becomes very cold
And life itself seems to scold
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very on the mark. And the lies keep coming, so winter drags on. Why are we so gullible?