To Carve a Temple
The ground is hard, the day is long;
The earth unyielding, the spade no prong:
The laborer sweats,
His brow heaves a sigh;
The Heavens shimmer,
Dressed in parched skies.
Dreams are raw, open blisters;
His back near breaks as he twists her.
To carve a Temple
From unhewn Rock,
Flesh needs Defy
Fate's cruel Clock.
Copyright © Gershon Wolf | Year Posted 2018
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