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?!
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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