You said it, Charlie Brown.
Though all we get is grief,
They only knock us down
To topple our belief
That one day—one day soon—
The meek will all inherit
And Lucy change her tune.
I don't think they could bear it
The way we do, to rise
Knowing we'll fall again,
To think it somehow wise
To lose, to fail . . . to grin,
And in our darkest mood
To still allow for Good.