The days have been good
Nothing else have been good
I sunk my eyes in ages
As I watch them play labors wages
Listen, the moon soon shall go to bed
Leaving you no other options than dream in your beds
Wait a minute, when the hen crows
And the frog croaks
Don’t forget to count your works
And number your words
Look and tomorrow tell me
If the rain falls
My farm floods
If the North-East Trade Wind comes
My lips fragments like earthquakes
You are walking
For yet you were crawling
It is good to live to tell ages
You were at their presence
None is best than
Counting your works
Numbering your words
When you dream,
Hope it tells you the future
Perhaps the days ahead
No, what needs doing or?

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