The Bell-Ringer's Lament

I don't suppose you understand the facts,

At least the ones presented yesterday

By drama queens and winemakers, who say

That troubles always come in cataracts

("It never rains — it pours"), and we had pacts

With carnival employees, whose back pay

Was garnisheed. Their faces all turned grey

When the admirals put on their scurvy acts.

Myself, I got as restless as a lamb

Beside the slaughterhouse, as if the wool

Was not what they were after. Fanciful

As when I've had a dilatory dram

Standing atop the church — that's where I am,

My hand firm on the rope I've got to pull.