after Epictetus To gaze upon the fatal without commiserating gloom: what every friend should be— not one who rends her coat of doom nor one who lets her ankle rankle nor her dogged love to the hounds. Be the cat in catastrophe who survives eight more dives. Though in the clutch of damage a dame must age, in the crazy-quilt of guilt it was never your fault. In the company of morose always pull out the rose.
Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Dolin. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on November 6, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.