The first will be last.
And the last first.
For what then do we cast.
For what do we thirst.

Do we crave recognition?
Do we resent others who get more for less?
This is the way to perdition.
A path to pointless stress.

I am like the first worker at the vineyard.
But happy the first who does not resent the last.
Happy the man who accepts what is given him even the worst card.
His colours nailed to a self denying mast.

We will sadly always compare.
Accepting is rare.