On ruing the past

[Pilgrim]

On Ruing the Past

Morbid thoughts of ill-done deeds
sprout within my mind like weeds.
Each waking hour, from first to last,
they blight the present with the past.

I took her out at dead of night
and buried her by candlelight,
Among the gum trees in the park,
(there’s no-one out there after dark).

I know I should have bought a plot -
the kind the local Council’s got.
But times are tough, the money tight,
and no-one mourns the beggar’s plight.

So as I sit and rue the past,
those morbid thoughts come thick and fast.
If they don’t stop, it’s very plain -
I’ll have to dig her up again.