There is the pain
It is there all the while
Yet see how I smile
That you might ask
How am I keeping
Yes, it is true
It does keep me
From sleeping
Yet see how I am lightened
By your offer of tea
No, the despair
Does not quite
Turn to my weeping
Instead, I write
On matters of love
I try to repair
Yes simply as if
I am reaping
To furnish with light
The missives of love
There is the pain
As if climbing the stile
Yet just see how I smile
That you ask, sympathetically
How it is that I am needing
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