Driving to work has always been a source of pleasure
A spiritual experience it is; a quietly hidden treasure
Layers of hills and lofty ranges the roadways serenade
Crowning themeselves with cloudy wisps as a barricade
Native American tribes used to roam this verdant land
Their lives spent in joy and harmony in nature's hand
Witnessed by the very same mounts, that see the drive
To and from from work, as humans for a life do strive
It has seen communities and eminences come and go
Without a trace left of their constant ebb and flow
But at all times these ripples felt they are special
Assuming that unlike before they would stay unfelled
Yet the fossil speaks of layers of generations asleep
In the trackless womb of time and space buried adeep
So I stopped worrying about the destination of my life
It is no longer to work, but to serve without pride
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