Thrust, as't were, into life,
Then you're, if you're lucky, born into privilege,
Odds are, though, into strife,
Luckier, still, you're given liberty,
And opportunity,
Without the fear of personal assault,
Or repression of ideology,
Then may your disposition grow freely,
No matter the flavor,
Morose, optimistic or ornery,
Naught to do with squalor,
But with humor,
No, not the funny kind,
The disposition you cannot escape,
That self-awareness allows you to find.
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