In the valley of my hill,
I freeze in the burning heat.
In the feast of my famine,
I am empty as I eat.
In the calmness of the storm,
I feel sorry in my joy.
In my youth, old age sets in.
As I play, I work with toys.
I fall far behind the slow,
I rush ahead of the fast.
In the present I am lost,
In the future is my past.

Golden rivers course through dirt,
Jeweled silver rots away.
Polished bronze seems as leather,
legs of iron, feet of clay.
Made to stand, begins to fall,
Words of widsom in my head.
Symbol Kingdoms fall they down,
‘bounding wisdom brings me dread.
Dying tree begins to grow,
Limbs spread upward, down they go.
Shadows fall down from the light,
Then my blindness gives me sight.