We Poor Dancing Bears
Stephanie Anderson

From my residence I only see stars

This spartan existence a perfect hospital now


The tinselled mantle

The leaden-colored waters


Beset with rocks and quicksands

Cold as if butter would not melt within our mouths


These dolesome times like compositions

On wretched hurdy gurdies


Musicianers pulling up thistles

I cut them for ever


You will at all events be as well off anywhere

A sad impostor contented with trial