There’s things that I find sacred now
as my life’s field I slowly plow;
there’s tiny seeds that I must tend
as in life’s field my back does bend.
So much neglected; left undone –
there’s tiny shoots baked in the sun.
Embrace the soil and crave the rain,
there’s rejoice in the smallest gain.
They are the parts within my being;
it’s taken long for me to be seeing.
These parts are what make uswhole
and should be part of all men’s goal.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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