Let hours fall like rain, and overfill
The massive cisterns of a well-lived life;
Let days be minutes, and yet know that still
The time is counted in the hours of strife
And not the quiet, comfortable times,
The easy lazing by an unstoked fire,
The calm enjoyment of untroubled climes,
Or sweet absorption of fulfilled desire.
We value overmuch the storm and blast
While leaving calmer, sunny times aside,
Imagining that time has only passed
When angst or violence are fully tried.
For me, the drops of warmth within the sea of pain
Are worth the rest of the unruly main.
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