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.'