If I were open to you, would life be
A better place? Or if we talked of things
Less insubstantial than we do, would we
Be happier? To speak of fairie rings,
Whose stuff is nonsense, but so preciously
Stuffed with that nonsense that discussion brings
Nothing but a pleasant fantasy
Of how the fairy band in chorus sings
Its roundelay, is one small type of joy,
But I cannot shake off the dreadful fear
That if we cannot find a serious
Topic to discuss, we will soon cloy,
And end up simply ludicrously drear
Because we were so greatly frivolous.
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