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.

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