A Second To Work

A Second to Work With a hand that ostensibly Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently, Yet really holds with force, Holds with vim and plays with vigor The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance, Turns out Wagner tunes into self, Turns on raw terror, awe and fear Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect, They tap the ear— touch the soul, And Oh, To play second fiddle And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out, A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you, That Nietzsche wrote That I know, That to be second to To know the seconds in time Lost to frivolous pursuits To know that we have all but toil, And work cursed to toil And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun To know that love comes second, to toil is the saddest condition of man.