540

The passion was, the passion is, the work

will e’er be passionate to me, but sore;

for never did the deep depression lurk

more than when passion’s Progress lusted: more.

For Progress’ avarice once anchored me

to doing, and not musing, only, on

the kinds of things I loved passionately,

and distance great was, from that hunger, drawn.

But Progress is not sated easily.

Hard work and passion will forever yield

to how sharp Progress cries, and they shall be

always reaping Determination’s field.

I thought that passion was for those with joy,

but is too often in Progress’ employ.