Ardour for Nighttime

Try harder. So far you’ve done nothing right:
You failed at almost everything you tried.
When people asked what happened here, you lied
And cringed when dark things moved into the light.
Undoubtedly you know you’re not as bright
As some of those old duffers, mostly fried,
Who hang around where their hopes, having died,
Are spread across the fields, the usual blight.

The old guys tell you secrets, which you knew,
Make snide remarks about your desperate ardour
For nighttime and the contents of the larder.
They squint sincerely and make fun of you
And your too-easy life. But that’s your cue:
So far you haven’t done enough. Try harder.