Cyclical Molting

In this the third Week of April I loofahed from top to my toe Every inch of my scaly magnificence bidding the lost parts go Always loving a monday, A first,ground zero A change Whether August or May Or dawn of new day I eagerly sought to know To be at the pop that starts a new race On clean untrod virgin snow What I sorely lacked Was conviction In the self care I hoped To attain To fall,then to rise going wiser along Without starting over again Using what's gleaned To propel me To envision the pot holes and snares Knowing that life It is,what it is Never advertised freely from cares