The dew-dressed beacon of the dawn
Doles out a daily wage of time
For each broke migrant, Adam spawn,
Who barters youth to spend upon
A day of progress in his climb.
The storehouse stretches long as thought
In goods compelling all to buy.
A spotless home, a friendship sought,
Careers and favor battle bought-
All haggle for their scant supply.
The time, once spent, all refund spurns,
So heavy weighs the shopper’s choice.
Some haggle for a great return,
While loafers joy to watch time burn
To soothe by pleasure’s kindling voice.
At last the storefront windows fade
And usher out the lingering guests-
A sum of whom, bowed and dismayed,
Hear they shall never more be paid
The wage they thought to reinvest.
Those ghosting few peer deep inside
Their final load which wide distends
To see what goods were kept aside,
What lasting stock their trades supplied,
What sees their final journey’s end.
Some scowl as wood, hay, stubble find
While others sigh in labor’s rest,
Surveying bounty more refined-
Reward for faith and works entwined-
And joy to bring the Lord their best.