There’s no innocent Jose
He that can look no beyond nose
Need worry not of morrow’s worldly woes,
Yet, there scarce are blokes blind as those
Who’d not know what around them goes.
There are those, vision sharp as nose,
And mind as alert, on cats’ careful toes,
Those that’d smell everything—rotten to rose,
To them, to them this world everything owes.
The measure of man’s to know friends from foes,
Genuine sufferings from the surface woes,
And to know well which way the world-wind blows,
To survival of his, this much he owes.
Many a man manoeuvre, naïve while pose,
I doubt there still is such innocent Jose.
- Tongue-in-cheek | 04.05.04 |
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