This world is but a winery,
Its host and master Father Time,
Who caters only to those steep’d
In dreams discordant, without rhyme.For people drink and race as though
They were the steeds of mad desire;
Thus some are blatant when they pray,
And others frenzied to acquire.Few on this earth who savor life,
And are not bor’d by its free gifts;
Or divert not its streams to cups
In which their fancy floats and drifts.Should you then find a sober soul
Amidst this state of revelry,
Marvel how a moon did find
In this rain cloud a canopy.- Khalil Gibran