One plods through muck. That's how life is, one's feet
And legs weighed down by family ties and sundry
Obligations. Overhead, the sky is grim, as oligarchs
And moralizers join to wipe away the sun, but, surely,
One could win his freedom, lightly walk, and do so under
Cloudless skies and brilliant light. The trick, I think, is
Letting go. One can sidestep pools of muck, and force
The clouds to dissipate simply by ignoring them,
And having done so, one may find (I'm told; it's not what
I have seen) that there's a pleasance to existence few
Of us have known.