Familiar fields provide an easy choice,
relief from paths with outcomes unforeseen,
but sudden weakness asks with pleading voice
what imperfections naked now may mean.

Much work and sweat will make the body fine,
attractive playground pleasing self, so strong,
but creeping numbness whispers sharp decline
where nightmare weeds will grow a field of wrong.

Disuse soon makes a skeleton in bed,
despairing of a helpless rest of life,
but steady treatment hints discharge from dread
with future cut aright by hope's bright knife.

More serious the question, at what cost;
more inescapable the answer, lost.


- Robert Stone, 18 November 2012