# Dust—All’s Yellow

Desire itself no longer within reach,1

I still recall when I could feel its grip,

When any wanted thing, mere whispered speech

Would place into my hand, nor would it slip

From out my grasp.2  And more:  I was content!

I did not know the maggot gnaw of greed,

But knew the joy of gold and time well spent.

I knew the gratitude of those in need

Of generosity with wealth to match.3

Now gone, all gone!  All felled within an hour!

The forces of misfortune thus could snatch

My slow accreted honor, wealth, and pow'r.

The brightness of my day enshrouds my night.

Unstinting and severe, the hands that smite.

# Footnotes

1: The inability to anticipate pleasure is a hallmark of depression.

2: See Job 1:1-3.

3: See Job 29:12-16.

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