Melancholic he gazes at
Far fetched blue roses that
Present to his personage a gist
A longing, a desire, a hazy mist
He stares at them, empty at mind
Seeking something he cannot find
He is the punter, at heart mad
But in reality a com-mixture of good and bad
His name is a trifle fashioned old;
But appeals to the mind, a bird of gold
He gazes with a mind hollow yet full
Attracted by the ambience, the gradient, the pull
Despised by all and loved by none
He too has adapted to live as lone
But when alone his mind rumbles
tumbles, fumbles, fumes, grumbles
Again the melancholy seizes him
Again he gazes at the roses abreast him
His desire gone, he lowers his gaze
And walks back, preparing to raze
He is a soul, poor and alone
You may not believe he is ousting a groan