Wages

Twigs from the tree tops fallen,
Leaves by the zephyrs in ecstasy dropped,
Vines looking up
At the bark they had clung to but lately,
Till the breezes came their way . . . .
They are scattered and helpless,
Wistful of glories once theirs for a day.

Sands on the shoreline,
Crags from their setting torn to pieces,
By splash and spray . . . .
Mortals go near them unthinking of agony there.

Winds will break in tempests.
Oceans burst into waves . . .
Man must have music, not counting the pain and the price
In fallen leaves in the garden,
In broken stones by the shore.