Amongst the pretense of equity;
Not almost there;
Our actions quite daftly,
Seem to make us not share;

Through the seasons we troll and tread,
The lands are all sere,
The dirt mixed up with tears and sweat-
Makes it impossible to bear.

Despite what our conduct may insinuate,
There really is something there.
Not trifle nor selfish did we create,
It’s actually very rare.

To work on undistinguished plains,
A mutuality everywhere.
The strife and struggle that we attain,
A betrothal to compare.