Our Boulders

Do we push the boulder, or carry it,
As my wife used to state before an ache,
Which could describe life that declines to quit
Either for itself or suffering’s sake?
Sisyphus could never have carried it
Given its size and his enduring ache.
Could he have broken it into pieces
To push it away and thus reach the top?
Or was it a cause that never ceases,
As one learns to plug up hoping and hop?
Life is one of those effects that fleeces
Until the only thing left is to stop.
Yet we tend to continue like badgers,
Although we are surely mostly cadgers.