"Els catalans de les pedres en fan pans."—Catalan saying*
When I have thoughts that life may cease to spark,
That love has lost its fervor and its gleam
And wake up trembling in the neutral dark,
I tell myself that things aren’t what they seem,
That after all I’m just a comic quark
Teetering on the sunlight’s quantum screen.
Risible hypochondriac, you hark!
Pathetic whinging spoils a fine day’s feast.
A guardian angel has your foolish back
When s/he can sort the human from the beast.
If all the wretched world seems out of wack,
Bread from the stones is what you get, at least.
* "The Catalans make bread from stones."