An Exhortation of True Work over Homework
Where thoughts released, to paper, happ’ly fly
From minds of scholars ‘voiding ‘ficial tasks
Great thoughts, which if confined, might rather die
Thus find eternal life in annals vast.
Though idle thoughts they are, important not
To any purpose meas’rable by gain
‘Tis better that they gather dust, not rot
Lest wasted would be true work of the brain.
What matters, in the end, our daily grind?
Though ‘stuteness in one’s work’s a noble way
“Play well thy part,” recalls the prudent mind
Adhered too far, this dictum wastes away.
Indeed, ‘tis true, that usefulness benign
To one’s associations keeps one’s bread
In drudgery, true character we find
Yet on its own, such drudgery’s to dread.
Each piece of work, in proper place, must fall
Too little’s such a curse as is too much
And when the precious balance perm’eates all
‘Tis crudely sensitive to slightest touch.
But, hear this; when the power of the mind
Is spent ‘pon subjects which push not its growth
Stagnation, degradation dulls its shine
And vigor’s subtly pushed aside by sloth.
Therefore, when given options with thy time-
One’s chores and duties, or one’s mindful joys-
First strive for pleasant balance, peaceful rhyme
But if thou’rt forced, erase all static noise!
Perhaps ‘tis not a prudent couns’ling here
For often, those who conquer ‘cept the grind
As price of greatness, when to’it they draw near
Thus is the mark of wise, sagacious mind
But if thou’d live this life, and live alive!
while ly’ing in bed, some questions should arise:
Didst thou, to-day, live honest with thyself?
Didst thou, today, instead, do otherwise?
Art thou content with all thy works today?
Dost thou rest free in conscience, free in soul?
To live alive, there is no other way-
“To thine own self, be true!” the bell doth toll.
One day the worms will rest within thy bones
Their offspring chewing ‘pon what meat remains
In some celestial world might live thy soul
‘Ton Earth, thou’ll ‘xist but by fruit of thy brains.
Therefore, thy legacy, thou must build now
While God, in splendid mercy, ‘llows thee life
Select, then, for thy monument, what shall
Bring to thy memory fine acc’lades rife!
For when the Father taketh thee to rest
You’ll find His kingdom far unlike our land.
Now’s thy last chance to give this world thy best-
Let not dull duties fold thy finest hand!
Each one, an artist, in his deepest depths
Constrained by this real’ty’s iron laws
Composite mortal beings with air for breath
Must do their best, with all their strengths and flaws!