This morning of discomfort seemed a test
Compounded by a dreadful weariness,
A list of tasks to daunt the doughtiest,
And not a moment’s peace to convalesce.

Impediments aplenty multiplied,
The burning candle’s ends should then have met
But when my desperation I implied,
This Montague perceived her Capulet,

For help arrived in stranger’s kindly act;
A sad goodbye turned into bye-for-now,
It was the box, not me that substance lacked,
My gratitude for this I will avow:

That when I reach the end, I dare to hope,
That always there will be another rope.