My load is irons My sweat is rain The summer air, a mass of chains For all the change that it would make I shift my burden with a grunt And envy Sisyphus his ease of life But hark, what light in yonder floorspace breaks? The box is almost down; I am reborn in paradise When suddenly the fateful, fatal call comes: "We want it over here." What eternity compares to these five steps?
Friday, August 07, 2009
Moving Day
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