Tilled the earth
Nomads with a fat goad
Set off the harvest
But the cock never crowed

They stayed boned up
What more could they digest?
Scholars, fitted to the turn-ups
But the stage was never set

Alas, the youngling espied his zeal
Worked his fingers to the bone
Gaiety, his holy grail
But the sun never rose

A boy walking her trails
A girl after his heart
Lovers in wait
But the time was never right

Originally published here