We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I'm not crazy yet, but AM into about my fourth day of a fragment of a line of poetry rattling around in my head looking for the rest of itself.
It won't succumb to any search tried yet. I think i read it here at Maggies --the website colors are around the memory, but that could be bias rather than recollection. The line was --i think --part of a thought about coincidence, or luck, or fate, or Providence, intervening and impressing the poet with the "...but for a moment's...." something or other, there go, or don't go, I.
It sounds like Robert Frost maybe.
Strike a bell, any merciful sanitarians out there?