All that can be cherished from this world,
All that makes life worth living,
Is that which you have mined from its bowels through your own toil,
Fashioned from its clay by your own craft,
Fired in the kiln of your own heart.
That for which you bruised your hands and wearied your limbs,
For which you beat back the beast inside you,
For which you defied a mocking world.
Oh, how precious, how resplendent a feast,
a life forged by the hands of its own master!
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