Leon Stacey Poet Narrative

A Door Upon Hinges (Part I)

Allow no sleep to your eyes and no slumber to your eyelids, for a little 
sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest and poverty will come on 
you like a vagrant, and scarcity like a beggar because slack hands make a man 
poor, and he who is slack in his work is brother to one who destroys and is a 
great waster.  By reason of the cold, the sluggard will not plow in season, and 
observing the wind, he shall not sow; therefore, at harvestime he looks and finds 
nothing.  His souls craves and has nothing.  All day he covets greedily, and his 
craving will be the death of him because his hands refuse to work.
	He may say, "There is a lion outside in the road, a fierce lion roaming 
the streets!"  Or  "I will be murdered in the streets."
	Yet, while he is in the house, he will not even roast the game he took 
in hunting but will bury his hand in his bosom or in a prepared dish and will not 
so much as bring it back to his mouth because it grieves him.  The idle soul and 
shiftless man goes hungry and his laziness will cast him into a deep sleep, and 
as a door turns on its hinges, so a sluggard turns on his bed.  Eventually, he will 
be under tribute and slave labor.  His way will be blocked by snares and thorns, 
and his labor wearies him because he does not know his way to town.  Yet, the 
sluggard is wiser in his own eyes and conceit than seven men who answer 
discreetly; therefore, he is as vinegar to the teeth and smoke to the eyes of those 
who send him.  His words are mere talk that lead only to penury because he 
follows vain persons and chases fantasies, for he is void of understanding but 
has his fill of poverty.

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