Refined the madness will walk away
At seasons end to sell your hay
Share the sun, enjoy each day
But don’t get lost along the way
Then if the last straw be drawn
Finding you left standing on the lawn
No goods leftover to be pawned
It will be sorrow; all sun be gone
It’s known it’s fearful inside this head
Laughter spinning around the bed
The makeshift scarecrow: no wit, dead
No roof to shelter, no home to stead
But not all’s lost when wits have fled
A lone wild grouse found and bled
Enough to feed and safely tread
At least for a little while, to ease the dread