You Tell Me I Am Grim Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

You tell me I am grim
My friend:
You be precise
You read my Soul
Well in my verse
Drink and taste the waters
Of its well, the well
Of the Inner Soul.

On earth
How cannot one be grim
You have to be propense
To be a rascal or a fool
Not to be grim.
Here
Here on Earth.

And
I think that as me you
Have so many a preference
In common:
No wonder
For the gentleman and the noble
in you
Shines distinct, very distinct
Through the rest, throughout.