Is it as simple as that –
A few hours of who I am
For a morsel of bread?
Is there any other way
Without leaving this little city of humanity?
Alas, l for I am torn with revery,
Visions of greatness,
Art and poetry,
Fruits of the vine of sorrow.
Are there no other outlets for wisdom?
The sun is cooling,
Though August is not yet full.
I feel the change in the air
When dreams precipitate to craft
Where is the harvest of the year?