Life lived us, not we life. We, as bees sip, looked, talked and had. Trees grow as we did last. We loved the gods but as we see a ship. Never aware of being aware, we passed and dream...

The work is done.
The hammer is laid down.
The artisans,
   that built the slow-grown town,
Have been succeeded by those who still built.
All this something lack-of-something screening.
The thought whole has no meaning
But lies Time's wall like a pitcher spilt.
That's why the hammer is laid down...
No worker is left...