I guess I have to call this mood depressed.
It isn’t that I’m worried – I don’t frown
or shout or cry or even feel too stressed –
but time sits on my head and holds me down
as if a weight were pressing me to earth,
or gravity increased its normal pull.
It seems I’ve lost my leap, misplaced my mirth,
and grown too dense to move, all thick and dull.

If I won’t grin, at least I can produce,
so I intend to labor hard today.
This lowness of the spirit must have use
and I’ll engage to figure out a way
to utilize the heavy as a plow,
and overturn the fundament somehow.