One amazing fellow I know
fills drawers.
he does it all the time
and he does it well.

why didn't he, of all people, understand how busy he was?
and how wonderful the work is?

serenity and occupation.

why couldn't I do something?
why couldn't I see the effort?
why couldn't I have lightened the load?
why did he insist to do it all himself?
why am I thinking about me?

I can't stand this.
file it away, until tomorrow