Tomorrow I’ll stop shirking and get down to steady working
It’s a nice idea of course, and yet I doubt it
My domestic life is just about to crumble into dust
But I can’t be arsed to do a thing about it
Looking round me in despair, I’m convinced this isn’t fair
And it’s nothing like the life I’d been expecting
It’s a terrible debacle, ‘cos for every job I’d tackle
There’s a hundred other things I’d be neglecting
I’m surrounded by a host of things I ought to treasure most
They require an awful lot of TLC
I can feel my spirits sinking as I sit here, sadly thinking
Shouldn’t someone else be doing this, not me?
Shouldn’t someone sympathetic, organised and energetic
Come and boldly take the line of most resistance?
I’m a poet and a thinker, born to dream and not to tinker
With the nuts and bolts of everyday existence
Yes, it leaves a nasty taste, it’s a dreadful, shocking waste
Of the talent that’s been given me by God
Am I right to feel a grudge at this unrelenting drudgery
Or am I just a lazy little sod?
Will Hames, November 2008
2 comments:
Isn't that a profoundly deep question put rather simply?
BTW, I counted the number of syllables in the rhyming lines on my fingers. You have such mastery; if I tried such discipline, I'd be lost!
Rhett
life isn't fair and then we die, but we better make the best of it while we're here.
another good read by Will the poet!
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