O Joy, that beckons me!
Why must you wait upon the
shelf, gathering dust as the years
decompose all that is, while the
yoke of life drags us day-by-day,
ever onward and back, unsure
whether we the horse or the cart?
Inflame my breast once
again, yet temperately, that I not
abandon duty and forsake the
charge that is my privilege and
destiny, but rather, provide a
beacon to illuminate the path that
others must drudge through in
these small hours.
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