Fruits of My Labors

Rosy-cheeked lad was I,
promise-filled, passion-blest,
to become whatever I wanted.
No mountain, then, too high,
nor valley, then, too low,
as to leave my young spirit daunted.

From my teenage years,
until my middle age,
I strove just to do my duty.
Yes, I surely labored long,
and I surely labored hard,
soothed only by Nature's beauty.

The foundation was strong,
my talents, they were plenty.
But now looking back I see, alas,
the fruits of my labors,
like old windfall apples,
lie rotting in the orchard's grass...