Must He Always Cry Himself to Sleep?

He dares not rise with the sun

Nor dream of retiring when it takes its rest.

From him the cock takes it cue for its first

Crow of the day, and the crickets are long

Weary of singing before his bed again feels his weight.

Ever moving, more for the demand than for the desire,

Though not alone on the road ending only when one’s number is called.

Purpose is lost and direction murdered by the maddening rush

Yet for all the hypertensions, El Dorado is still missing.

Who ever wonders what he’s after or knows to shout ‘Eureka’ when … Read the rest