Sonnet: Infirmity Poem by Richard St. Clair

A bug is bugging me: it is not time
To die just yet. How gray the winter sky
This solstice beating down on me, oh my,
Just time enough to spin another rhyme.
Far off a church bell mournfully is pealing
Monotones appropriate to this day –
I’m tired: too sick, too weary – though I may
Yet find within myself some comic feeling
Neither cynic nor harsh critic could resist:
I take hold of myself, and I desist,
So’s not to send my soul to the hereafter.
Moderation is the better path,
If only to forestall my karma’s wrath.