When roads are harsher than they are,
When every thistle leaves a scar,
When forks give ‘worse’ and ‘worse’ to choose,
Is poetry of any use?

When doctors countdown weeks I’ve got,
If all the thousands lines cannot
Remind me of remaining youth,
Is poetry of any use?

A little less of Hellish grays.
A little more of Heaven’s grace.
If neither it can introduce,
Is poetry of any use?