O, how long shall this anguish last
I thought it o’erturned?
But then I felt it – turn again
The Wheel that yearns, and yearns
That tugs the Heart; moves the cart
Toward slight and lucky mound
That slights the fortunate – Off course
With trite misfortune abound.

What are the chances? I count
My eggs, and chance a guess
Make sense of those already hatched
But what to make of the rest?
Does the fledgling Hen – No Hatchling abreast –
Mourn amongst the coop
Or does it lay all anguish to rest
In the nest its Chicks would stoop?