And, even if I found a grail,
It wouldn’t change a thing;
I’d still be preordained to fail
Like some ramshackle spring.

At first, I’d bounce, as good as new,
But, then, before too long,
I’d take the strain and break in two;
What’s wrong is wrong as wrong.

And so I occupy a house
With many fences round
And, like some panic-stricken mouse,
Try not to make a sound.

And yet I wasn’t born this way;
I even triumphed in my day.

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

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