There is so little comfort in the fact
That someone else has felt such misery;
The similarity may prove exact,
But I have never loved much company.
Instead I would prefer to be unique
In owning up to agony extreme;
Results of any contest would be bleak
Without the listing of my name supreme.
Those fools who beg to differ can go hang
Themselves on threads of sayings over ages;
May this rebuttal serve as my harangue
Against advice of cockamamie sages.
An aphorism all-too-often fails:
No easy fix exists to cure what ails.
If you have any comments on this poem, Jane Blanchard would be
pleased to hear from you.