The Pessimist’s Lament
… this is why, I occasionally cough,
and it’s what draws the horse to the trough.
It’s the secret known to cats and dogs,
to squirrels, to birds and even hogs.
It’s the strength within the strong,
and it’s woven into every song.
It’s in the softest touch, and the baby’s cry,
And it’s what you seek when you’re asking why.
It flows in the rivers and the clouds
and it penetrates the darkest shroud.
It’s the reason for pyramids and the kings of old,
but you’ll find it growing in a patch of mold.
It’s what gets lost in the broken toy,
and it’s what drives the clever boy.
It’s why we eat and why we sleep
and it’s celebrated in the birdy’s peep.
The bricklayer is skilled in its advance,
and you find it, flowing, in every dance.
It’s something which the gardener is well acquainted,
and may be why the pretty girl fainted.
It’s celebrated in every work of art.
And it rests, or rumbles, in every heart.
When you’re down and out you’ll find it in liquor,
but a good joke will get you there quicker.
You’ll find it tangled in any stupid argument,
and it’s what you’ve lost when your money’s spent.
It’s what the lie aspires to grab,
and what the truth has always had.
It’s in the light and it’s in the dark,
it’s in the glance, and every spark.
It’s in a smile, and in a frown,
and it’s mocked by every clown.
It’s in the living, and in the dead,
d is known by all, even if your hair’s not red.
It’s in the faucet’s drip and the flowing stream,
and is the substance of every dream.
It’s why the mailman delivers the mail,
and the missing clue whenever you fail.
And the many things that haven’t been listed,
are all running on empty when it’s neglected.
You’ve probably guessed it six times by now,
but if you haven’t, just ask a cow.
It’s in you,
and it’s in me,