("...Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours...." -- W. Wordsworth)

What do I really own, and what is only on loan?
Is the stretch of road ahead of me mine;
Is the place really mine I am looking to hold,
Stamped with my God-given right and design;
Is the future I think I can see set in gold?

In the traffic of life,
Our travels must merge;
Shall I jostle and strive
Or peacefully seek to converge
With fellow travelers who surge?

We fret and we scurry; we fight and we worry;
All through our lives we compete
To claim more than the road at our feet,
Never content nor complete.