Aye, snows are rife in December,
And sheaves are in August yet,
And you would have me remember,
And I would rather forget ;
...
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All things toiled hard have to be forgotten as bad dreams as none there is to relieve or soothe one's bad luck in life, Nice title to a poem full of uncongenials things one witnesses whether there is benefit or none!
Are you dreaming still....? The dream that life has outlasted For the great things of life are small things, The longest life is a span, And there is an end to all things, A season to every man, Whose glory is dust and ashes, Whose spirit is but a spark, That out from the darkness flashes, And flickers out in the dark. The dream I would fain forgo... Compelling meditation, very Ecclesiastes-like: Vanity, vanity, all is vanity Live your life under the toilsome sun, enjoy the simple pleasures of living, and rest from toil as all who have gone before. So much stress and anxiety interwoven into plans and dreams, and yet the truth of life is far more simple. Nicely, though extensively, executed.