Another morning early making dough.
Just habit when the purpose seems but nuts.
No hunger drives the appetite to grow
when counter sometimes opens, often shuts.

Another day without a slightest change.
Routine old when tomorrow seems but dim.
No aspiration moves the soul to range
when chances never high become more slim.

Another season waiting for an end.
Expecting same when every day is done.
No longing guides the heart to find a friend
when opportunities seem almost none.

But hopeless roused by unexpected ire
can spurn the past and fan suppressed desire.

- Robert Stone, 18 March 2012