They
practice incessantly honing experimental procedures
For
which I am the butt.
Trusting,
hopeful that a cure is eminent.
Once
again powerless, yielding,
Wanting
to believe that these hands are competent, caring
To
carry me beyond the shadowed valley.
The
psyche weakens with each shattering occurrence;
I
yearn to regain the necessary strength from who knows
where.
The
good in life and these surroundings draws upon the silken
thread
That
keeps me going; lifts me spontaneously, gloriously from
The
doldrums of vanishing despair.
