And given task at hand but fingers thimble there undertake,
Breathes the paper and the ink, soon shall be ash again,
Ordered for more wood to feed his fire, lest more so
Those requests offered him the wood more his fire fed,
What rain poured and lightning bright, only his babes
That shivered around the fire and with only bread and cold
buckwheat did it suffice their needs whilst his were fewer,
Motions outside, the rain that wettens him and breathes the
scent of tears that Nature emits while concealing his own:
Make me so that I shall never be so again,
Effect me hence that I shall contrary perform,
Once his wood be enough for fire his term made,
Wishes never he the man to risk himself for damages not,
Not was I that gave him the permission to be born here?
And asks that Creator why he be made just to suffer again,
At his amusement once thought, but only sees words more,
Then feels the tugging of his shirt by his youngest,
There agrees further the price of life for knowledge.

Family, Nature, Poetry, Works
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