Several weeks now have past
and troubles met and served up, last
like ham sandwiches and potato salad, cold;
you shudder to meet even one so bold.
They stare you down like cheetah with prey
and meet with eyes worn, disheveled and grey.
They pierce and stab, thrust and joust
your long-stem soul now sold, like Faust.
Perchance to seek, to try, to reach
for God knows what, these things, rare, teach
the lessons, ill-gained, that bring us round
to find once more our feet on the ground.