Won’t lay my crosses down: A poem 

I am worn out, but I won’t lay my crosses down 

No! I won’t complain! Won’t have the heaven’s frown 

I’ll keep painting the walls of every town 

I’ll walk in a straight line, then walk around 

There is birth at dawn, and rebirth at sunset 

after the long day’s travails, which I vet 

And my arms are widespread, still steady and strong 

to be thankful for the deeds, and to rectify the wrongs 

In a velodrome’s time trial, the cyclist is chasing 

not the trophy of victory, but the deepest reflecting 

Even luck’s talismans can wear out with time’s creeping 

that triumph is momentary, but virtue is for keeping 

The champagne bottles will be popped later 

I know my drenching sweat is not water 

Even in dusk’s life, I will count and gather 

the gems and stones dedicated to mother and father