Name one drunk on which the Paris lights refuse to shine,

Or the stars, whose faint lights reach,

Every grain of sand upon the beaches of the River Kwai,

And every other place this side of the Milky Way and beyond,

Or the Sun whose mighty rays grace everyone and everything alive or dead,

And me, and you.

The rain falls on the just and unjust all alike,

And we should be glad,

For truly, we aren’t wise enough know 

Which category it is

That we might be lumped under,

If such categories were made to exist in real life, 

In anyplace but our own minds.

But only for now,

We can rather fall in love,

And under the optimistic hope

That logically believes: 

With all this manure,

There’s bound to be

A pony in here somewhere.

-jenn