The cat is eating the roses:
That’s the way he is
Don’t stop him, don’t stop
The world going round
That’s the way things are
The third of May
Was misty; fourth of May
Who knows. Sweep
The rose-meat up, throw the bits
Out in the rain
He never eats
Every crumb, says
The hearts are bitter
That’s the way he is, he knows
The world and the weather