The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes, almost out of sight…
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes, almost out of sight…
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
