THE SWEET GRIEF

A satire with lyrical affection

Romantic ideas remain in the past,
The reader is pitiable and wan.
He has no food, no income,
The clubs swarm with other man.

He doted on maxims and proverbs.
(Some enjoy the mission of the learned).
That woman was in love in those days,
And soon, found herself in his flat.

As luck would have it, he just dreamed,
He just dreamed from dusk to dawn.
The raven cawed down at him,
In his soul dwelt the sweet woe.

His fate played a trick on him,
He couldn’t catch the rhythm of life,
But he never cared a pin for that.
In the street found her shelter his wife.

He became a burden to his family,
He caused them expense and trouble.
The kids trusted just their mother.
A lettered man is thought humble.

The woman sang in the night bar.
Lust for art is a kind of gift.
Men were enchanted with her figure:
A show-woman must run the risk.

And that lettered man died a reader,
Humble was the end of his purpose.
His coffin was made of bookshelves,
His books mourned over the house.

11.12.2OO2.

Janri Gogeshvili