Email Poem

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Poem

Though millions are waiting without any work
We labor too hard for the lucky who shirk
We forfeit our rest for the job that we do
And working continues until we are through

If we should expire to rest just a bit
The man is a liar who calls you a twit
The foreman is ill so we work for his son
No battle this sick is a victory won

We labor all week and we labor too hard
We labor to sleep in the back of the yard
A pillow of leaves and a lawn for a bed
A willow should weep for the yawn in my head

The way that we band is for calm and restraint
The clay in our sand is a common complaint
The units we do by the proudest to know
Are more than just who is the loudest to blow

The job was completed but not without fun
The laugh that we needed was true for each one
The job on display was the hardest we did
The slob of the day was the foreman’s own kid

The pain in my heart is much worse in my head
The first thing I need is a room with a bed
The doctor is in but my luck has run out
The next job is waiting without any doubt.

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