we wrestle long with those before
 who do not seem to comprehend
 the way the world has changed, amid
 the broken ways that they defend

 we walk to work to change the world
 then turn to look, alone and sore,
 astonished that we're where we are,
 and that we now are

"those before"

 how many feet have trod these paths
 how many laughs across this yard
 it all is new when we are new
 and when no hopes from us are barred

 by years, or by experience,
 the voices telling us that we
 are just like all of those before:
 imperfect, flawed,

 humanity