As I go on my round of late
I see bodies, with shambling gaite
I wonder, do they suffer the cramp?
Of rooves that leak and houses damp?
Or perhaps suffer some other malaise
A stare that is blank and eyes that gaze
So curious to see on the Isle of the Free
A shuffling gaite as if from some penalty
As if they carry some burden great
Of souls that are bound and minds that hate
Surely some miracle of science can liberate?
From this oft’ seen and pernicious state?
Then I look unto myself: I see I too, stagger
Under burdens so great, calculations that wager
Of schedules, plans that do frustrate
My soul from rising to higher states
Of lists, jobs and errands and the like
I think I’d be better off on a bike!
Instead I try to handle it, say “I’m cool”
But when I meet my end I’ll be the fool
How can I carry on this way?
Just ignore my problems, soon they’ll go away
Can’t I see I’m my own worst enemy?
And when they finally lay me down to die
Saying, “He had a good life…”, “NO! NO!” I’ll cry
“I did everything wrong! I want a second try”
But suffering poets to this day,
Have their brief say, then go away!
