A pilgrim stopped me on my way to work
and asked me what I couldn’t understand.
Three times he spoke and twice his words were murk,
till finally I gathered what he planned.
His “P’otion?” was a traveler’s request
for confirmation that his aim was straight,
to walk ambitious miles toward the west
and meet the ocean at the golden gate.

How could I dream, when I awoke today,
that chancy fortune would bestow on me
this gift of wayward humor? On my way
to ride a train, with little energy,
I met surprise that would have been unknown
if I’d been vain enough to stay at home.