Mr. Edgar McMillan lectures his nephew while walking through a festive crowd.

[A follow-up to "Disturbed by Spring."]

“Nephew,” said Edgar, “look around this place,

such happy expressions are on each face.

But behind each smile is a grinning skull

and upon this sober thought I mull

when beaming faces shine at me

so bright that I can scarcely see.

The expressive skin but covers bones

as cold and rigid as senseless stones.

All I see here are skeletal frights,

and I cannot abide such loathsome sights!

Such masks, such lies, such vain display!

Let us take our leave, we shall not stay!"

"But Uncle," said John, "you are too severe.

Let us partake of the revelry here!

For life is short, you must surmise,

and to spend it thus methinks unwise:

To see the bad in every good

to spoil the world, as if you could

steal the sheen from the golden sun

and shame these good folk in their fun.

The heart inside your very chest

still beats, I bet, and will attest

against your will, to the good desire

for human love, and for the blazing fire

of the Creator's Love, which you reject,

but rejects you not as you expect.

So banish every morbid thought

and embrace the goodness you have fought!"

And said the angered McMillan then:

"I cannot abide this foolish din!

Such empty speech of life and love,

of some benign divinity up above.

Boy! No goodness is to be found

and your hopes for such will hit the ground

when they topple from such platitudes.

No! Stay such nauseous attitudes!

Come - this gathering has made you bold

and made you forget the things I told

that little boy who came to me

when both his parents perished at sea,

on some frivolous trip they took

forsaking my good advice - oh, look!

that old couple there slovenly dancing

and all the crowd behind them prancing

like wild deerlings, around the square

as if they had not a single care.
I pity their foolish deluded joy,

mark me well - but where are you, boy?"

Then he saw among the reveling crowd

John dancing there and laughing loud.