That frangible small thing
Is it plausible poor thing?
To puddle, wade then die?
You labour without respite
Yet you never tire
For many days you built a hill
With the rest of your race you took to toil
But that turbid giant crushed it underfoot
Nothing daunted, in a spate, another was afoot
How obstinate is your optimism?
And how shallow depths your anger’s chasm!
Today I saw you struggle up that wall
Hard upon the unrelenting facade’s toll
Again and again like your life’s prize
Tumbling yet ever again but again to rise
Oh, how you stupefy even those wise
Not twice but again, and again twice
You moved a little to the right and again
And at once you scaled to the plain
And as you hurried away on the flat
I bid my guru of the hardest art
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