What state are we in when we pray
When we make solemn promises to our heart
When it is paining under the ribs
That if only we can make it to the morning
We promise not to eat that fritter ever again
Certainly not before bed
That tomorrow we will take only juice
Only walking, not sitting all day
Not being such a slob with our habits
What state is it when we promise such things
That a few days later we lose
We pass all those earnest pleas to the bin
Disown any allusion to infirmity
To right living
Become once again
Immortal