A Short Poem
Between Two Seas
Look upon the young faces,
and see a springtide that lasts forever.
Look upon the old faces,
and see the dead on graves’ precipice.
In the strait between,
one must strive to be,
not by straining,
but as a steadfast farmer gathers strawberries.
The work is not strenuous,
although the sun may be, at times, too hot,
and one’s basket too full
or empty.