Sisyphus's Pet Rock

I have my rock, my hill. So, every day

My task, though hard, is known. And as I roll

My rock, its weight seems always to convey

A certain satisfaction to the soul.

Near sunset-time, just before I can see

The highest point, I purposely let go.

My rock responds and, thanks to gravity,

Takes its own way back to the plain below.

I follow willingly, our duties done,

And grateful that another day's in store,

And glad to think my rock and I are one

In labor and in meaning. Surely, more

Is not to be expected; surely we

Will have our task throughout eternity.