Each thing must choose again its proper life

Before we go to bed   we   vegetate
No need for teacher but  a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams  our little mind debates

But mostly we’re  unknowing in this dark
Where  God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness  makes our souls be still
And wait a strike by living, glowing spark.

But in the morning, we  come  back to  strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest, strongest oak
Each thing must choose again its proper life

Every look we cast at others  strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement,  we are done
Our mind and  heart have chosen what they like.

So in our end , we vegetate again
And  no more rise to labour in the day
For now we  fertilise the fields passed on our way
And show the end of woman and of man.

A  daily round becomes our life and death.
We  live because  we’re  breathed by sacredness