Sorrow Is Endless

First we must sow, and then the harvest comes,
We sow and then we harvest, every year,
Spring, winter, summer, fall. Falling, one tear
Replenishes the ocean. Do the sums:
Sorrow is endless, The cold machine hums
That is the greening of the world. Right here,
In this cold place, supported by our fear,
We harvest, weep, sleep, creep, sow, reap the crumbs.

Still, every season sorrow's what we know,
It is the surest outcome, the true yield
Of all our sowing, and in every field.
There is a cycle, yes: new plants will grow,
Love will arrive, and leave. Today we sow,
And endless sorrow is again revealed.