Upon a snowy bed I lie,
   Too placid to complain,
And watch the mad world rushing by
   Beyond my window-pane,
The traffic threading in and out --
And wonder what it's all about.

I watch the loaded tramcars stream
   By dozens into town,
With men, each thinking of some scheme
   To take his neighbour down;
Each woman wond'ring what she'll buy
At Frill and Fluffum's bye and bye.

Down in the street I hear the talk
   Of people passing by,
They chatter, chatter as they walk
   Of all thins 'neath the sky
Of trade, of sport, of foolish things
That lack of clear reflection brings.

Placid I said I was -- but no;
   For all this seems to me --
This madly rushing to and fro --
   Just sheer futility.
And, as I choke with rising wrath,
The nurse says, "Time to take your broth."

Herald, 15 February 1923