the making of good luck

 beneath the cloud is clarity of sight

where choices made do not entail regret

but only wistfulness that we have set

our hopes too high as swiftly-coming night

will end the journey still in our despite

there's magic against which we may not bet

so each must laugh while all the foolish fret

for there's still someone who can make all right

not for us here the option to renew

all the old answers that no longer serve

to cover up what must now be made plain

those monstrous forms that we refuse to view

or the old houses just around the curve

where we used to take shelter from the rain