the ox-cart and the plow endure
though truck and tractor replace
all progress comes with a weighty price
the silent contemplation of what is done
feet still walk and bent backs carry
cross many a dusty road
none will know where they hurry
sit restful by a sheltered pond
take bread and drink and
book to ponder
through the summer heat
what means this life to everyman
what lessons he must repeat
rush not to the door beyond this life
gather what blessings that you may
what works for one is pure divine grace
what works for all is the pain of Love
heedless of the cost it comes
and much is cast away
for emptiness is best kept secret
throughout the working day
what man sits beneath his bundle
would rather not be free
if only he had time to find it
underneath the Bodi tree
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