You cannot drive the ponderous nail
With a small ten-cent tack hammer.
Since, then, so high I cannot soar,
Nor chirp notes like the lark,
Please cancel what I’ve said before,
I’ll simply make my mark.
It has been beautifully said: The water that flows from a spring does not congeal in winter; and those sentiments which flow from the heart cannot be chilled by adversity.
Roses, without thorns, for thee.