an obscure wood

what we don't have we won't need to keep
the job each does matters more than a bit
we need to pause to rest and just to sleep

what we don't have is the kind of sharp wit
that takes the pain and turns it to a knife
but what we have is a tired mind that's split

between the thoughts of anger and of strife
and those that mean to many so much more
but we are balked by the base need of life

we think ourselves together rich and poor
as one large body born in long-distant past
around for long enough to know the score

the lines which we into the river cast
caught their fish and so we can soon eat
but that sort of satisfaction doesn't last

the myriad tasks this morning have us beat
we'll ask for help far more we will implore
it's grim out there on that too-silent street

what matters isn't what we did before
but how we manage at each simple task
the things that are completed we adore

but we still will not answer when you ask
why we do this and not the other way
we pause and drink deeply from the flask

because we really have nothing to say
the night will lift when it is surely time
for it to lift and then it will be day

we'll have to justify the noisy chime
be ready to fight in all the blasted wars
and cleanse ourselves of all this heavy grime

but now we cannot even see the stars