Toil and hardship, hand in hand,
Extol the virtues - once arrived -
Of joy and love for how are we
To know the difference, if deprived.
But if before that one last breath,
A tiny chink reveals a prize
Of words so heartfelt, so enriching
As to waken tired eyes.
We never still the fleeing tide,
Escape the Reaper on his spree
But I\'m content. The final breath
Is sweeter for such poetry.