His cheerfulness bore the cost
Of a profound fatalism,
Wrote Alfred Einstein, in his book
Mozart. His Character, His Work.
Thus it is, I think now,
For the best of human beings in the world,
As life cannot satisfy many,
It is too hard, too cruel
For anything but stoical fatalism.
But to accept that without resentment,
Without self-pity or anger!
That is the great secret, and many know it
In South America. They smile and enjoy
What there is. Suffer no illusions
About miracles changing everything
In their lives. Just live.
As if I had fallen into a sea of honey
Where you did not need even to swim
To keep afloat. Love so soft
Penetrating your being in stars of flight,
Perfumes of paradise entering your skin,
Beautiful breezes into your soul.
Now Bosh, he thought everyone loved
His style: “We are all Americans now!”
But some did not agree, they felt
They were from Brazil, or Paraguay,
Or Singapore, or Timbuktu;
So when he wagged his lovely finger
They did not wish to suck it;
But nevertheless he egged on a world
That did not feel he was a giant,
And others did not like at all
The way he quickly got-out-of-there,
And sent his jets with all his millions
To drop bombs on children afar.
But Bosh was such a brave young man
He threw a baseball ball,
And that he thought, was all he needed
To do, to gather fame.
He jerked his arm, and tossed the ball,
So valiently he did it,
All the children in Palestine
Adored to see him do it!
He was so brave, he cocked a snook
At Binny Lad, his friend,
And then they danced right by a canyon,
But noone knows yet if they fell
Plungingly into the abyss:
We all still wait and pray!