O Aimless Labored Friend

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Whither dost thou goest,
O Aimless One,
hither and yon til the
wandering day is done?

What dost thou doest,
O Labored Friend,
upon thy anvil beating
til your time’s at an end?

Will the sum of thy travels
be of more joy than pain?
Will the works of thy aching
hands have not been in vain?

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