This week will be a week of little sleep,
A week of mad activity and joys
Too numerous to count, which I may keep
For days when all the universe annoys.
This too shall be the week of fervent hope
That few things will adhere to my projections-
With predetermined chaos I will cope,
For tumult and disorder are perfection;
Such gifts of chance are thus to us delivered,
Embraced by those both fortunate and wise.
A plan is but an arrow in a quiver;
Its flight may both enrapture and surprise.
Sweet Pandemonium, your aim is true,
Projectile flight’s adventure to pursue.