Misery is a good thing, if misery is spread,

One hurt at a time, so relief feels good.

One grief to a long street:

A wrist-burn a woman had:

A girl waiting for a letter: a dollar lost

By a child going to the store, and his slow return.

But we say so at no real cost.

We can always endure misery this way.

Or, if we think to, we can exult every day.

Any one of us can say,

Not this time, not me."

That is another way to talk about misery.

But when misery begins to bite bone

And the sweet marrow is my own,

Then misery is nothing to talk about.

Misery must be killed and thrown out.

Kill it? But it will not die.

Losing it is not easy, either. No one knows why.

I have walked fast a long time on a dark night,

Turning the corner at every other street light,

And come back home, and found misery there.

I am not well, but misery is well.

Misery is in excellent health everywhere.

The worst about misery I know

Is that it can go anywhere anyone can go.

The worst about misery I shall tell

Is that some, who find ways to put it to sleep,

Cherish the cure they endure,

As if it were something good to keep.