(Meter and Rhyme structure taken from 'Invictus' - by William Ernest Henley.)

Under the shade of dying trees,
Rooted in grit, wet sand and coal,
I crouch then curl in apathy
And begin to dig a hole.

Knowing the dark whims of random chance,
I have once struggled to put down
A wavering and anxious glance
That ends firmly on the ground.

In youth this world felt all too near,
Too close to comprehend, let’s say,
And as I weaved about my fears,
I learned to stop, take pause - and say:

It is in my mind I make the shade,
It is then I that digs the hole.
Thus when the time of fear pervades,
It is I that must take control.