Are we not all beggars?
A bit of breath and will in dusty form-
One slight creation among worlds of manifested power.
Overconfident, we take to lofty heights
And claim kinship with mountain peaks
And when the earth and rock slide
Wrecking our aspirant mansions like sandcastles,
Bruising our inflated senses,
Then we grumble of unfairness.
While the Lord, purveyor and creator
Gently blows away the debris
(A sort of heavenly sanding).
And although it stings,
We are cleaner, brighter
Better souls for it.
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