I am somewhat given to melancholy, Lord,

Said the Fool,

And though I would give you the mirth that you crave,

All that I work is coloured by sadness,

Whatever I will.

My mother cried when I was born

And there was no star to dance

By way of salvation

And I was coloured by that,

Whatever I will.

And whatever I will my colour is black:

The colour of warmth, ...

Read and leave comments (0)