If I could sleep, I know I'd say it better.
In these long days, I'm made of sand and stress:
Receivership -- a hidden sort of debtor --
A wine that leaks out daily in the press --
But you and I believe, although we struggle
Recapturing, rekindling the dream:
The tariffs being high, we're forced to smuggle
Our treasures in along a balance beam
And comb the beach for memories and feelings.
The distances get lost along the way,
Among transactions, trade-it-offs, and dealings
Are all the things that on us, daily, lay --
The brightening fire burns, but it refines us;
And what we choose to go without, defines us.