Bring no grief to Love's door
Set no bread on an unwashed floor
Keep anger's flame in its pit
Hold onto your humor's better wit

Tie up tidal waves and fold them under
Dim the Lightning and hush the thunder
Let every grace; your heart allow
and spin your temper into peace somehow

This question poking in your ribs
That Drives your hatred of grave and crib
is that same knife which brings a bitter end
To many tormented souls of men

Many families broken now once prayed
That desperate hands had once been stayed
looking back upon your funeral wreath
You might have kept it buried in its sheath.