He was born with a curse,

a boy named Misanthrope,

with a permanent smile,

always mocking false hope.

Tried scowling with his eyes;

yes, he practiced each day,

and premature wrinkles

showed he'd tried it this way.

But still oh-so-happy

his upturned lips did look,

so with each shaken fist

it was my smile he took.

05/31/2006