I'm digging through cold mud,
Looking for things I can use to fix my life.

My hands get feeble,
They shake...
But my heart keeps shooting warm blood to my fingers
And the muscles,
They take.

I'm still digging when I pull my hands from the yard
And stop to contemplate.
My mind is digging at the sky
Through memories,
Through itself,
To the end,
I am
The definite Why.

Through crowds of people
And promiscuous Time
Through hard countenance
And slippery slime
Through the cold hard mud
And the loathsome grime
I am digging for merit--
My reason and rhyme.