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