| What is this life if, full of gin, |
| We find no key to let us in? |
| No key to harmonise in song, |
| To warp and weave our way along. |
| No key to fumble in the lock |
| When bleary-eyed at two o'clock. |
| No key that's hid beneath the mat |
| To grope and grasp for where it's at. |
| No key left dangling on a string |
| For drunken poets on a fling. |
| No key, or window open wide |
| To slither through and slip inside. |
| A poor life this if, full of gin |
| We find no key to let us in. |
| © Leonard Morley 2009 |