"Lament of the Maker" by Jan Schreiber

Lament of the Maker

What wonders I've performed, with leaping mind,

imagining the fruit while eyeing the seed,

conjuring what's ahead while still behind,

savoring praises for the undone deed.

I have esteemed my skill so highly that

I stroll through mansions I have yet to build

and, like the seigneur or the plutocrat,

reap harvests from rich fields I have not tilled.

But when I face the drudgery of art,

bright mirrors where misunderstandings lurk,

my faltering strength just when the need is great,

I faint before the task—or rashly start,

push through to make an end, survey my work,

and smile—how fine, how small, how light in weight!

Jan Schreiber