Each morning I rise
I bathe and clothe then strive to confine
My spirit and shape it to man-made holes
Placing it in boxes of wood and steel and stone
Through these boxes I produce my labor
Receive the wages on which I survive
Yet each day my spirit wilts that much more
Like the flower in a scorching heat
These boxes separate me
From the grandeur of the world outside

On occasion I escape
To endless fields or towering cliffs and peaks
To hear the roar of mountain streams
Or see the bloom of early spring
Oh my soul does soar
Far from the elemental boxes wrought
From the splendor I now enjoy
Sitting in those boxes
My vision becomes small
Focusing on the works of human hands
Plagiarisms of the magnificent Artist

Standing dwarfed by mountain cliffs
And deafened by raging waters
The airs of pride drift away
While wonder and humility
Rush in to fill its place
In these places of awe and wonder
This man sees his vain glories
For what they are