You wear a fool’s cap when you curse the wind
The wind blows ill, or fair across our days
Our footslog to kismet we must transcend
My youth’s pluck wasted a thousand ways
I groveled to my grievous pious waste
A wanton idol had consumed my prime
Resentment and chagrin I did embrace
But life proceeds benignly through our time
Not judging my excess and quite aloof
My fate, if real, could never be random
but oft resulting from a nil reproof
Restraint and pardon must e\'er be tandem
To curse the wind is playing to your pride
Conceit fed outrage hubris til it died