THESE warm spring days When skies are blue I yearn for ways My youth once knew; When cares were few And never great, I'd nothing do But "apricate." To-day my gaze Meandering through What Webster says -- How language grew! -- Chance brought to view That word ornate. Don't "fuss" or "stew," But "apricate." Small good life pays To me or you, When worry sways The health askew. To reimbue With "pep" our state, We shouldn't "rue," But "apricate." @3L'Envoi@1 Ye gods! we sue, From morn till late: Let's nothing do But "apricate." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND [SEPTEMBER 17, 1862] by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP THE DEFINITION OF LOVE by ANDREW MARVELL THE SOLSEQUIUM by ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE UPON A WASP CHILLED WITH COLD by EDWARD TAYLOR THE COWARD by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA BEATRICE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |