Making a Daily Living
As the head emerges
from the womb of soil,
brightly declaring its birth
in the scream of birds,
the new day is born,
a life to live to night,
as the body travels in its path,
as the head held high, aloof!
Hiding behind veils of cloud,
breaking and slicing through
as it gazes upon the ground,
a humbled beggar to his shoe.
And then it reaches the height of its career,
as shadows flee and hide in reverential fear.
But then it topples from its ladder,
the inevitable decline,
until in its retirement,
it gets to end of line.
And then it is pierced by the spears of Cyprus trees;
it deflates slowly, and flattens
as it plunges to the ground
and the feathered choir sings songs of praise
as the day’s last trumpet sound.
And to earth it returns,
to earth where it was born,
dust to dust,
ash to ash,
tomorrow,
to be re-born!
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