Into the earthy realm we come, with friction as our gate
to don ill-fitting garments that our forebears did create.
But some unlucky soles, it seems, who would have worn too thin,
Become overly hardened here for want of thicker skin.
Still others look to chemicals, as though we can escape.
Alas, there is no exit when we’re circular in shape.
And even when we do dissolve, are peeled up from our flesh,
We may decide to start again, in agony, refreshed.
Physicians in white coats advise to take in fresher air,
In padded rooms with wider berths, perhaps, while we repair.
Still, pressure from all sides can mount when trouble is afoot.
Our suffering is certain, and we can’t give it the boot.
Yes, misery is guaranteed; we run on solar pain,
and sometimes it is doubled, when we go against the grain.