the workers’ day is done
but they do not foresee they’ve come
as far as the eye can see
and over the hill to me
draw down a path no longer
where they belong. only to
find themselves with
nothing to do.
“so what now”, screams the
lone poet from the
balcony of life.
they do not know him
any more,
and no one pulls him
from the floor
so he becomes
as everyone.