A layer upon layer of beautiful sceneries and landscapes;
The misty racks are locked in retreat on the green slopes.
Brushed off by the mountain fog, my headband gets wet;
The early morning dew moistens my straw-made cloak.
On my feet I wear my wandering far and wide sandals;
In my hand I hold an old rattan to tread on my pathway.
Time and again I contemplate the dusty world from afar;
Here is my wildest dreamland I wander thru leisurely. . .
Why should I leave it now for a rut of unsettled routine
Of my second shift in the realm of total overproduction?!
Been in the forging business over 20 years. worked 6p to 6a the last five years. Oh...I know it well. I too have lived in the world of "overproduction".
Thanks,
Chris Stone