Sunday, February 8, 2015

Intentions Count For Nothing

Intentions count for nothing in the end;
Not even toil and sweat can navigate
A channel through the odds. You hesitate,
You poke the callus where your fingers bend,
And give up digging burdock now, to mend;
But as you heal, the blind clay shall instate
A thousand burrs and hooks to lacerate
The eyes of horses. Now you comprehend.

Intentions count for nothing, yet you wade
Uphill, as if the weeds could be constrained,
As if a sonnet mattered, or a tale.
And so you scoop tomorrow in a spade,
Where future burrs are cut off and contained,
As clear eyes of a horse enclose a vale.


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