Tired is one thing.
Exhaustion is a doneness.
It finds you, you don’t find it.
You look like toast, you feel like a worn kitchen rag.
To be those pantyhose, worn one too many times.
To be that black little sheep, who can’t make the fence.
When your life depends on that final leap.
It can be the most inconsiderate act of all…
To come again to the fence,
Mend your hose
And make another run at that fence.