Do you like or write poetry?

There, in the city, one is laid up with his gout;
Another's aches and pains require a doctor's aid.
Why do these countless ills torment the luckless rich?
Why does untimely death so often strike them down?
It is because they scorn the fruitful work of boors,
Lead sinful lives, loaf, sleep too long and eat too much.
But here we simple boors, held by the lords as knaves,
Fed on unwinnowed bread and pallid buttermilk,
Work on the quick each day, as simple folk must do.

I think poetry is a good way of processing things that you might not have the capacity to deal with in many ways.