If You Are Weak and Tired

​If you are weak and tired,
You open the door to every wrong
Measure. Depression creeps in,
And it rolls headlong

To anger and to pride,
To jealousy and hate.
The dirty water slops 
In the hold and soaks the freight.

Therefore, when your muscles
Bulge, when your core is strong,
The entire forest sings, one
Lapsang leaf bush yields souchong.

When you are weak, you draw
Into your flesh the power
Of your soul, the streams
Descend into a dour

Depth. Rustling down the cliff
They were thankful and clear.
But when the earth provides
Its own strength, the dear

Lights fling up, the storks
Circling, and letters are stitched
In space and flight, each
Man on every path is enriched.

He lifts up the package from
The depths of a stalactite 
Cave, the small white birds
That will return to daylight,

And expeditions head north
To the aurora borealis.
And the maids wipe the sparkling
Windows of every palace.

The small asters line the walk.
The hyrax and the hare,
The chipmunk and the beaver,
Complement the black bear.

Imagine a herd of elk
Pretending to be wolverines,
Loping about the woods,
Crouching mad-eyed in the ravines.

But we in our camp we still know
That we are human beings, we
Are not berserkers, although
We still must undo our anomie,

Although we still must awake
In the moonlight, we must
Scour our entire camp, 
Reinforce, scrape the rust,

Oil the pans, scuff shoes,
Until the wheat bursts its husk,
Mandrakes blossom violet petals,
The fires glimmer at dusk.