Poem a Day XIII

Human Life in the Round

The world is at our feet but death is at our door.
The winds of fortune speed from north to south to west,
more changing than our minds, although their strength is more
than strength of human hands.

We sacrifice the substance for a bit of zest;
we kill the golden goose to buy a breakfast poor
and smash the mill of plenty for a smashing jest.

And yet we are not rotten to the inner core.
In truth, in all we do we want the very best,
yet always fail, for nothing more do we adore
than strength of human hands.