Ever do the hours creep
toward early twilight and forever sleep
but in these waking days
their dreams they raise.
Lost in distant pastures green
with no regrets for where they’ve been
yet in the end, how can they measure
where all effort seeks only pleasure?
In ages past all day was toil
the only goal to live off plants and soil.
Beyond each milestone the world has passed
Patience lurks, unused, and fading fast