Brown Gravels

This is not the pillow
Where I shall rest my head
This is not the stratum
Which I should call my bed

This is not the morning
Which yields my last sunrise
This is not the night
When I shall close my eyes

For each day is a present
A chance for me to claim
Those lofty aspirations
Some never dare to aim

My work here is not yet done
I must endeavour for more
Fill each passing hour with
Silver sweat from my pores

Hard rocks and brown gravels
For company I will keep
When I’m finally laid to rest
In that grave I will sleep