How many cauldrons bubble in man
Of hope and passion and rancour,
How many fires these to sustain,
Oh how easily is spent our fervour!

A burning forest of many fires is he
Aching forever for a brief reprieve,
Singed by iron fate and destiny 
Clinging to hope that doth deceive.

Each life lived turns a cold parable
Like some future’s harsh lesson,
Yet all that is learnt turns futile,
This the gist of human condition.

Peg us not on futility’s scale,
A mere incident in the human tale.