On Despondence

Oh for a draft of hemlock, and a knife.
And let a tender virgin kiss my face.
Then cut a vein and drain from me this life
That drags its weary chains through dust. This place,
This Earth, this planet spinning round the sun
Will go on spinning. Weeds will grow again.
And football games will be lost, or be won
By one side or the other. Summer’s rain
Will barely quench the plants that sprung in Spring
Enough to help their seeds explode in Fall.
The fish will spawn their hatchlings. Birds will sing
About their new born young, the grass grow tall.
  Yes, Spring will come again. Another year,
  Will come, or go, with, or without me here.