The flesh of the wine bottle top is akin
To the problem we tackle and wrest to the ground.
The effort it takes gets the job done, for sure,
But it might cause some illness for which there’s no cure.
The weight of the issue misjudged by the pound
Bespeaks the illusion there’s something to win.
I’d a niggardly weed in my yard once ago.
It just would not give pay to superior will.
I yanked it and stabbed it and hurt it quite well.
I drowned it in Round Up and said “Go to hell!”
Yet, the damned thing defied my desire to kill.
I decide who gets cut down and who gets to grow!
One can have any cake and consume it with pride
In a world where one knows when to give it a break.
The limit, as mankind approaches its prime,
Of will power potent enough to stop time,
Is infinite, yet we must learn to awake
To the guidance provided us from deep inside.