Yesterday I fasted, fallow,
Then ate one orange on the morrow.
Were it that I became so thin,
I’d cut these waves as though a fin.
Can’t be just me who wouldn’t care
Were it that I would disappear.
Though tempting ’tis to run away,
What we’re given we’re meant to face.
Come these fruits or come rough water,
Let not them be laid down in squander.