It’s true, the January weather is grim,
And Mondays are rarely a blast.
It sucks, for us all, to be back at work
Now the festive hiatus is past.

But it’s false, however they dress it, to state
That depression is just for a day.
‘The black dog will visit for twenty-four hours
Then, tomorrow, he’ll just go away.’

Real depression – the clinical kind –
Is a wretched, persistent ordeal:
A serious, nebulous, life-throttling trial
And a difficult illness to heal.

There’s mileage in myths that ink-slingers lap up
And regurgitate, year after year.
So, marketers, journos and credulous clots,
The message for you lot is clear:

Dispense with the pseudoscientific bullcrap,
With its sneaky acquisitive goal,
And show some respect and compassion for folk
With their mental health out of control.