So tiny are we when compared to thee,
we forget just how small we are.

But fractions of dust upon that which we lust, hoping to make us large.

How petty are things when compared to the rings of cries heard everywhere.

From the sky, but specks of time trying to make their mark.

Anon we will be gone, unable to long for that which we regret.

Take thy name, not in vain, and follow that golden heart.

A sleigh drawn by animal spirits, shall we now begin to live?