There is no grass left for them

There is no beginning to an end of the trolls
It’s today, it’s this morning, and it was also yesterday
They were putting the poet’s poems into the earth
Our creative work, curled like sour milk.

I don't understand what the troll motivation was
For crushing our dreams deep into the ground;
Without giving us the plus and minus grades,

Frederick Herzberg came to me in a dream
and whispered these words:
Satisfaction and motivation
One remark he made before he vanishes from my dream
He asked me if I knew how to get rid of sour milk smell?