On rare occasions when some things go right
You have to marvel at the lucky chance.
But when they don't, it's easy to alight
On pure despair, and then to look askance
On that which earlier looked good and true.
Thus worse times often color better ones,
And tell us sneakily there was some screw,
Some sluice from which the deeper evil runs
To make what might seem fair anything but,
And truth and candor can only be found
In undigested rumblings of the gut
Or heart's unease when all must seem unsound.
It is a struggle, but remember then:
The better color will return again.
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