In no way do I feel prepared for this day.
Please, dearest Lord, may I go back to bed?
Maybe somebody else can be me for a while,
And I will be some old vacationer instead.
Shall I compare it to a summers day?
I waken at the hour of a midsummer dawn
And bustle and bustle
till combustion through friction
is all but assured.
A clamour of bodies and a clamour of voices
and a clamour of things to be done,
and a growing unease that my head shall be split
before today’s battle is won.
But I wring out the sulk and beat out the weariness
and murmur that Tapestry does still look well
hang it back on the wall
and throw back my head
and laugh at the days to come.