Remaining undepressed
in a world of clouds and rain
is not a great big strain
if you have a warm, dry nest.
But everyone's not blest.
The lowest on the chain
have sorrow on the brain
and cannot know such rest.
They reel with every blast,
their soggy spirits wilt,
they forfeit every day
what their yesterdays had built
in some far distant past
wherein their comfort lay.
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