I need a 3-5 minute long poem.?

Canto on the Statistical Improbability of Happinessby Peter BenoitIt’s far from evenly distributed This cherished thing I’ve come here to describeAnd if my research has contributedOne little bit to insight in your tribeI’ll have improved the little life of manSo take a moment, if you will, subscribe To what I tell you and my master plan:The thing that we’ll henceforth call happinessIs rare indeed and in the finite spanOf life is felt perhaps ten times or less ―And maybe most of them in younger years.It does not understand the numberlessAnd suffocating presence of the fearsThat come to choke our crippled conscious hours.This wondrous thing, a rarity, appearsIn newborn baby’s cry, and nuptial flowers,When we are recognized for what we doAnd love the best, but just as soon it soursAnd disappears, and it is only throughThe miracle of memory and dreamsWe take our starveling world and fill it new.When we examine closer still it seemsThat happiness is merely an oasis, Or like the little bubbles on a streamWhere breathless minnows come to press their faces;Each thing that’s ever born must pant and liveBefore it swims away to other places.Why would a loving Providence not giveA greater quota of this precious thing?Or better yet, why not let it outliveThe much more common daily scorns and slings? Instead, it comes unheralded and swellsThe breast of life itself, but only clingsThe barest moment. It must live in wellsThat we redrill because they have run dry;It seems so long between the rainy spells.A practiced statistician might applyThe apt analogy of Benford’s lawAnd I will not, as one of them, denyThere is some truth in it, but there’s a flaw:Although the greater measure’s laid in youthBefore we find that we must strive and clawOur way sometimes, when we are long in tooth;It still may like some hooded cobra riseFrom depths whence it is piped and charmed, and sooth,Thrust out its tongue and hiss with ancient eyes That pierce the very pillar of our soulBefore it disappears again and dies.And yet these ten encounters make us whole.So I conclude that happiness is rareAnd yet at that it plays a vital roleIn which more common sadness has its share.We bottle not; we drink it from a streamAnd though we’re thirsty it is everywhere.Why we can even find it in a dreamBut it has fled before we’re woken up.Sometimes it’s there for us to drink it seemsBut fools we are, forget to bring a cup.... Show More

This Site Might Help You.RE:I need a 3-5 minute long poem.?I have to say a poem in class and I thought I found the perfect poem but it was to short. So I need help finding a 3 to 5 minute long poem. Preferably something that is happy or funny, but it doesn't have to be. Can anyone help?... Show More

The Pig by Roald DahlThe PigIn England once there lived a bigA wonderfully clever pig.To everybody it was plainThat Piggy had a massive brain.He worked out sums inside his head,There was no book he hadn't read.He knew what made an airplane fly,He knew how engines worked and why.He knew all this, but in the endOne question drove him round the bend:He simply couldn't puzzle outWhat LIFE was really all about.What was the reason for his birth?Why was he placed upon this earth?His giant brain went round and round.Alas, no answer could be found.Till suddenly one wondrous night.All in a flash he saw the light.He jumped up like a ballet dancerAnd yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!""They want my bacon slice by slice"To sell at a tremendous price!"They want my tender juicy chops"To put in all the butcher's shops!"They want my pork to make a roast"And that's the part'll cost the most!"They want my sausages in strings!"They even want my chitterlings!"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!"That is the reason for my life!"Such thoughts as these are not designedTo give a pig great peace of mind.Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,A pail of pigswill in his hand,And piggy with a mighty roar,Bashes the farmer to the floor…Now comes the rather grizzly bitSo let's not make too much of it,Except that you must understandThat Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,He ate him up from head to toe,Chewing the pieces nice and slow.It took an hour to reach the feet,Because there was so much to eat,And when he finished, Pig, of course,Felt absolutely no remorse.Slowly he scratched his brainy headAnd with a little smile he said,"I had a fairly powerful hunch"That he might have me for his lunch."And so, because I feared the worst,"I thought I'd better eat him first."... Show More