The fellow over there is waving—
Should I wave back?
Maybe I shall not!
For I'm still seeking and tilting on the bottom.

But it's still waving,
Tilting its head downwards to convey more
That it wants to reach out,
And bestow a hand for the sore.

It wants me to pull up and emerge—
To be one of the ups
And I'll finally relinquish,
Of me being a down.

Although that's pretty unequal—
What about my other fellows down here?
What about them taking the steep clearing,
And for me— a detour?

The fellow surveys the downs,
And none of which it made it profound
Till its orbs land on me,
For which it sends a vague tingle.

The fellow checks my whole—
Rampant by the red, by the grays, by the swollen bruise,
For also my thumping red swishes into blue,
And a flash of grin arises from them—
"It's all worth it; I can now resume!"