Some More Light Verse by Wendy Cope
Almost one in the morning, am back at my desk working. Listening to Mozart to calm my nerves. I’ve seen less than ten people for the last week, and I’m beginning to get anxious at my becoming a hermit again. My thoughts alternate between joy at what I do and then despair at what I do. Ah, T., get a grip.
Some More Light Verse
You have to try. You see the shrink.
You learn a lot. You read. You think.
You struggle to improve your looks.
You meet some men. You write some books.
You eat good food. You give up junk.
You do not smoke. You don’t get drunk.
You take up yoga, walk and swim.
And nothing works. The outlook’s grim.
You don’t know what to do. You cry.
You’re running out of things to try.
You blow your nose. You see the shrink.
You walk. You give up food and drink.
You fall in love. You make a plan.
You struggle to improve your man.
And nothing works. The outlooks grim.
You go to yoga, cry and swim.
You eat and drink. You give up looks.
You struggle to improve your books.
You cannot see the point. You sigh.
You do not smoke. You have to try.
This is from Serious Concerns by Wendy Cope, published by Faber and Faber, 1992.