Colossal arms catch the radiant sun,
Giants rooted in tree shrouded hills,
I smile at them till my workday is done,
Sun soaring above as we pay the bills,
Pompously colossal and full of drive,
I look up at them looking down at me,
Laboring away beneath resplendent skies,
With the spirit of Jesus and Don Quixote,
We sally forth into the teeth of fate,
Wielding noble visions of how life should be,
No effort too small nor sacrifice too great,
Not to impale self to self upon Odins tree.
And the hills turn to dust, dust turns to earth,
The void collapses, the sun burns away,
And I’m left to question what our needs are worth,
Smiling at windmills till the end of the day.