I was angry with my myself:
I told my pants, my wrath begun.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it with tears,
And nurtured it with all my fears:
And I covered it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful lies.

It did grew both day and night.
Till it bore a fruitful tree.
And my foe beheld it shine,
There he knew that it was mine.

And in that tree, yes he did stole.
When it’s dark and none can see;
In the morning so mad was me,
Here I know the angry me.