My feet know neither pain nor pall,
they refuse death yet embrace birth,
They murmur softly, swift as ghosts
towards my grave on this green earth.
My heart it knows none but itself,
my tongue it tastes only success,
my eyes they see the mirror here
and yet no further with finesse.
But for my shortness of vision
I turn no blind eye to the past
eras when older eyes would send
pupils into a world so vast.
I hear their cries for racing time
the grains of sand beneath their feet
reminders of the ticking clock
a legacy they must complete.
Yet time abundance still have I,
so let me tend to nascent fields
whose crops are many, in their prime
and offer ever-pleasant yields.