The Oath of Toil
I must swear the oath of toil,
And adjust my wicks to kiss the oil
That my lamps may stay aglow
Amidst the pervasive darkness that clothes all.
The oath of toil is no longer a choice
And none can against it raise their voice;
Leave it or swear it,
It boasts for itself not a bit;
For the bad needs some lungs to shout
But the good struts itself about.
I volunteer the solemnity of the oath to take
And not an iota its sanctity a bit to fake
For they follow for chastening its gods,
Who hide between idleness and its odds,
Labor and its bounteous rewards.
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