I told him that my life
Was far too harried and rushed
And he warmly wished me
The gift of time and I thanked him
And wondered if his life
Was measured the slow cycles
Of each season
In a land where all things grow
By the will of God alone
And I wonder too if he has stood
In the fields at sunset
Feeling the winds blow dry
From the hills that sit
On the horizons and
I imagine his life simpler than mine
A life like Hesiod’s
The soldier the farmer
The poet and
All the occupations to which
A man is drawn
By the will of God alone