naught in excess

if we wrought better we would all be gods
but faced with all our problems we fall short
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

each of us working folk plain ordinary bods
is frightened by an easily caught thought
if we wrought better we would all be gods

our backs were fustigated once by rods
bearers of pain with no significance fraught
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

we build our castles while bearing our hods
we've got some method followed what was taught
if we wrought better we would all be gods

we break the ground rending it into clods
the moment of success we have not caught
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

one more inquiring into each space prods
his yardstick measuring the things we've brought
if we wrought better we would all be gods
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds