Poet, Philosopher, Humanist
Flow the streams of the golden dreams,
Where sound the horn, the silver horn,
The silver trumpet’s call.
Wherefore the willow, the basking willow,
They toiled away for a bit of green,
Working and working, days and nights unseen.
Early to rise, to labor, to struggle,
Counting the coins and living lives frugal.
In the warm and bright,
And dark and dreary.
In birth, in life
In death jeering, and strife.