Many children know *dread* It starts about mid-day on Sundays Rising like the barometric pressure Accompanied with gloom like that cloudy day Finally bursting with Monday's end.

What are the paths and haunts of *dread*? Will it inhabit all of God's creatures? Are the pangs as distracting to one as to others? Does it always fancy a slow walk to gallows? How then, does relief come so reliably within 24 hours?

How like lovesickness is *dread*! Launching from the solar plexus What countless silly people fashion as "butterflies" Deep longing for what is not yet, yet whispers into mine ears alone. That cusp where possibility promises ecstasy or doom ...

Ah, yes, the tipping, swaying, nauseating ride with *dread*.