Man's Work
OH THE whole worlds come, come all
We fill up the world maritime with soil-
I know that is against natural appeal
Therefore our precious time shall we fritter away;
For where we hollow out the soil from
There shall we leave another sea-
Where then shall we term residence?
But uh humanity come a few, hardly any hands
We lug this edifice down to ground,
And we put a new-fangled one in its place-
I discern that work is trouble-free
For work of the hands of man
Shall never last long into the future,
It can be ruined in a day, any time.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
