Masters to conquer as we wish,
Subjects for elements to ditch.
Amidst plenty we are so cosy,
Most dispensable pest too nosy.
We have all we need in warmth,
And yet we ponder on the truth.
Even in the calmness of comfort,
Peace endures only to comport.
All and sundry counted as conquest,
Still amongst us is a long contest.
In boast we sweat over our fears,
And we remain parted by its tears.
From the search we then learn,
We’re uniquely put in the plan.
Overtaken by the lust we sought,
In our own webs we are caught.
We are old and our story yet done,
Age conspires to leave us in none.
We’ll reach and sit to just wait,
To find out we are the most late.