In which confused conception of the world
Is it appropriate to laugh at me
For problems indiscriminately hurled
Hard at my head by unkind destiny?
Is it my fault my fortunes seem to be
Set on a downward track which, though I try,
I cannot swerve? Is it gentility
To add to that a shallow mocking cry
Or heap up on me as I wander by
Alone and luckless, insults which recall
The very fate against whose pain I sigh
And how I was before my latest fall?
Do not kick out at those around you who
Have fallen, lest someday that should be you.
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