God Needs Antonio
Your soul was lifted by the wings today
Hearing the master of the violin:
You praised him, praised the great Sabastian too
Who made that fine Chaconne; but did you think
Of old Antonio Stradivari?--him
Who a good century and a half ago
Put his true work in that brown instrument
And by the nice adjustment of its frame
Gave it responsive life, continuous
With the master's finger-tips and perfected
Like them by delicate rectitude of use.
That plain white-aproned man, who stood at work
Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
Cherished his sight and touch by temperance,
And since keen sense is love of perfectness
Made perfect violins, the needed paths
For inspiration and high mastery.
No simpler man than he; he never cried,
"why was I born to this monotonous task
Of making violins?" or flung them down
To suit with hurling act well-hurled curse
At labor on such perishable stuff.
Hence neighbors in Cremona held him dull,
Called him a slave, a mill-horse, a machine.
Naldo, a painter of eclectic school,
Knowing all tricks of style at thirty-one,
And weary of them, while Antonio
At sixty-nine wrought placidly his best,
Making the violin you heard today--
Naldo would tease him oft to tell his aims.
"Perhaps thou hast some pleasant vice to feed-
the love of louis d'ors in heaps of four,
Each violin a heap--I've naught to blame;
My vices waste such heaps. But then, why work
With painful nicety?"
Antonio then:
"I like the gold--well, yes--but not for meals.
And as my stomach, so my eye and hand,
And inward sense that works along with both,
Have hunger that can never feed on coin.
Who draws a line and satisfies his soul,
Making it crooked where it should be straight?
Antonio Stradivari has an eye
That winces at false work and loves the true."
Then Naldo: "'Tis a petty kind of fame
At best, that comes of making violins;
And saves no masses, either. Thou wilt go
To purgatory none the less."
But he:
"'Twere purgatory here to make them ill;
And for my fame--when any master holds
'Twixt chin and hand a violin of mine,
He will be glad that Stradivari lived,
Made violins, and made them of the best.
The masters only know whose work is good:
They will choose mine, and while God gives them skill
I give them instruments to play upon,
God choosing me to help him.
"What! Were God
at fault for violins, thou absent?"
"Yes;
He were at fault for Stradivari's work."
"Why, many hold Giuseppe's violins
As good as thine."
"May be: they are different.
His quality declines: he spoils his hand
With over-drinking. But were his the best,
He could not work for two. My work is mine,
And, heresy or not, if my hand slacked
I should rob God--since his is fullest good -
Leaving a blank instead of violins.
I say, not God himself can make man's best
Without best men to help him.
'Tis God gives skill,
But not without men's hands: he could not make
Antonio Stradivari's violins
Without Antonio. Get thee to thy easel."
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sometimes in films it's nice to have violins on either side, rather than on one side, so you've got more of a stereo picture with the violins. Sometimes it's good to have the basses in the middle.
quote by Anne Dudley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lovingly Do The Work
Work is
Life...
Life is work...
Any work is not
Wrong...
Without work is
Worng...
Human every budy works
Wny way too work...s
Work is making you...
Work is given good life
For you...and your's...
So...
Understand too work
Earn money too work...
Live life with your work...
Love too work...
Learn to do the work...
Lovingely do the work...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
L'envoi To "Life's Handicap"
My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer I make my prayer.
If there be good in that I wrought,
Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.
One instant's toil to Thee denied
Stands all Eternity's offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.
Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain,
Godlike to muse o'er his own trade
And Manlike stand with God again.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!
One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth --
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.
Take not that vision from my ken;
Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My New-Cut Ashlar
My New-Cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare.
By my own work before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.
If there be good in that I wrought
Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine--
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought
I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray--
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain--
Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade
And manlike stand with God again!
One stone the more swings into place
In that dread Temple of Thy worth.
It is enough that, through Thy Grace,
I saw nought common on Thy Earth.
Take not that vision from my ken--
Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed.
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Its Gonna Work Out Fine
Its gonna work out fine
Ike & tina turner
Darling (yes tine) its time to get next to me
(honey that was my plan from the very beginning)
Darling (un huh) I never thought that this could be
(what you mean) oh yeah
Your lips set my soul on fire
You could be my one desire
Oh darling (yes yes) I think its gonna work out fine
(its gonna work out fine)
I wanna tell you something ike
Ike, I went to see the preacher man
(the preacher man, you must be losin your mind)
I started (strated what) I started making wedding plans
(oh really) oh yeah
If your love is half as true as the love I offer you
Oh darling (yes yes) I think its gonna work out fine
(its gonna work out fine)
I keep a tellin ya (I think its gonna work out fine)
I get the feelin its a (gonna work out fine)
I keep a tellin you (I know its gonna work out fine)
Im so glad that youre mine all mine
Remember (remember what) I used to call you dapper dan
(yeah those were the good ole days)
But killer, forever and a lovin man (thats me) oh yeah
A whole lot of love just to be your speed
But now pretty daddy Im all you need
Oh darling (yes yes) I know its gonna work out fine
(its gonna work out fine)
I keep a tellin ya (I think its gonna work out fine)
I get the feelin its a (gonna work out fine)
I keep a tellin you (I know its gonna work out fine)
I want you to know its gonna work out fine
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Work To Make It Work
(r palmer)
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Don't confine your dreams to bed
You'll get scared if you get lazy
If you can't take enough to satisfy yourself
Then you'll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it don't come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that i'll try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you don't succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Song Of The Wage-Slave
When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,
I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.
And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met --
All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.
Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;
Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands --
Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;
I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a ditch.
I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;
Threescore years of labor -- Thine be the long day's work.
And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,
But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou will not judge me hard.
Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool --
Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.
I was just like a child with money; I flung it away with a curse,
Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse;
Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,
I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.
Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),
A brute with brute strength to labor, doing as I was bid;
Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;
Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.
A brute with brute strength to labor, and they were so far above --
Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.
I, with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild --
Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child!
Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be rude;
But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;
I, the primitive toiler, half naked and grimed to the eyes,
Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes;
Hurling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;
Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;
Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,
Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.
Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;
Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.
Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,
And the long, long shift is over . . . Master, I've earned it -- Rest.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In A Heart Like Mine
(skip ewing/donny kees)
In a heart like mine
With a steady beat
Just the right rythm makes you feel complete
And the rythms right with you and i
And love starts pounding in a heart like mine
Put a quart or two
With a melody
Bring in a little chillbump harmony
Then let it build
Til the feelings right
And love starts playing in heart like mine
In a heart like mine
In a love like this
Theres a sympony in a single kiss
Bring on the fiddles and the violins
And listen to the way they shine
I could live on the music til the end of time
With a love like yours and a heart like mine
In a heart like mine
Thres poetry
In truth, emotion and honesty
So when the soul is there
And the words all rhyme
Love starts singing in a heart like mine
In a heart like mine
In a love like this
Theres a sympony in a single kiss
Bring on the fiddles and the violins
And listen to the way they shine
I could live on the music til the end of time
With a love like yours and a heart like mine
In a heart like mine
In a love like this
Theres a sympony in a single kiss
Bring on the fiddles and the violins
And listen to the way they shine
I could live on the music til the end of time
With a love like yours and a heart like mine
I could live on the music til the end of time
With a love like yours and a heart like mine
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love Is Only Love
Dolly:
Horace vandergelder, mrs. horace vandergelder
Just leave evrything to me
Though it wont be like the first time
How can it be like the first time?
But why does it have to be?
Dont look for shooting stars
For love is only love
You touch and still you touch the proud
Dont listen for those bells
For love is only love
And if its love youve found
Your heart wont hear a sound
And you hold his hand
You only hold his hand
The violins are all a bluff
But if youre really wise
The silence of his eyes
Will tell you
Love is only love
And its wonderful enough
Without the shooting star
Without the sounds of bells
Without the violins
Love is wonderful enough!
song performed by by Christina Aguilera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Out Of Work
8 a.m. Im up and my feet beating on the sidewalk
Down at the unemployment agency, all I get is talk
I check the want ads but there just aint nobody hiring
Whats a man supposed to do when hes down and hes
Out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
I go to pick my girl up
Her name is linda brown
Her dad invites me in
He tells me to sit down
The small talk that were making
Is going pretty smooth
But then he drops a bomb
Son, what dya do ?
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Hey mr president I know you got your plans
Youre doing all you can now to aid the little man
We got to do our best to whip that inflation down
Maybe you got a job for me just driving you around
Im out of work
These hard times, theyre enough
To make a man lose his mind
Im out of work
Up there you got a job but down here below
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Death
My body, eh? Friend Death, how now?
Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
For half a century bit by bit.
In faith thou knowest more to-day
Than I do, where it can be found!
This shrivelled lump of suffering clay,
To which I am now chained and bound,
Has not of kith or kin a trace
To the good body once I bore;
Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
Didst ever see that face before?
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
Mistaken pity in thy heart
For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
Do quickly all thou hast to do,
Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
I shall be free when thou art through;
I grudge thee nought that thou must take!
Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one,
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,--
Two members which have faithful done
My will and bidding in the past.
I grudge thee this right hand of mine;
I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
They never gave me coward sign,
Nor played me once the traitor's part.
I see now why in olden days
Men in barbaric love or hate
Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:
The symbol, sign and instrument
Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
Of fires in which are poured and spent
Their all of love, their all of life.
O feeble, mighty human hand!
O fragile, dauntless human heart!
The universe holds nothing planned
With such sublime, transcendent art!
Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine
Poor little hand, so feeble now;
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
Its veins so pallid and so slow --
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
I shall be free when thou art through.
Take all there is -- take hand and heart;
There must be somewhere work to do.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Habeas Corpus
1 My body, eh? Friend Death, how now?
2 Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
3 Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
4 For half a century bit by bit.
5 In faith thou knowest more to-day
6 Than I do, where it can be found!
7 This shrivelled lump of suffering clay,
8 To which I am now chained and bound,
9 Has not of kith or kin a trace
10 To the good body once I bore;
11 Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
12 Didst ever see that face before?
13 Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
14 Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
15 Mistaken pity in thy heart
16 For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
17 Do quickly all thou hast to do,
18 Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
19 I shall be free when thou art through;
20 I grudge thee nought that thou must take!
21 Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one,
22 Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,--
23 Two members which have faithful done
24 My will and bidding in the past.
25 I grudge thee this right hand of mine;
26 I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
27 They never gave me coward sign,
28 Nor played me once the traitor's part.
29 I see now why in olden days
30 Men in barbaric love or hate
31 Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
32 Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:
33 The symbol, sign and instrument
34 Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
35 Of fires in which are poured and spent
36 Their all of love, their all of life.
37 O feeble, mighty human hand!
38 O fragile, dauntless human heart!
39 The universe holds nothing planned
40 With such sublime, transcendent art!
41 Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine
42 Poor little hand, so feeble now;
43 Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
44 Its veins so pallid and so slow --
* * * (Unfinished here.)
45 Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
46 I shall be free when thou art through.
47 Take all there is -- take hand and heart;
48 There must be somewhere work to do.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Plighted
Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty!
Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty:
Love given willingly, full and free,
Love for love's sake, - as mine to thee.
Duty's a slave that keeps the keys,
But Love, the master, goes in and out
Of his goodly chambers with song and shout,
Just as he please, - just as he please.
Mine, from the dear head's crown, brown-golden,
To the silken foot that's scarce beholden;
Give to a few friends hand or smile,
Like a generous lady, now and awhile,
But the sanctuary heart, that none dare win,
Keep holiest of holiest evermore;
The crowd in the aisles may watch the door,
The high-priest only enters in.
Mine, my own, without doubts or terrors,
With all thy goodnesses, all thy errors,
Unto me and to me alone revealed,
'A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.'
Many may praise thee, - praise mine as thine,
Many may love thee, - I'll love them too;
But thy heart of hearts, pure, faithful, and true,
Must be mine, mine wholly, and only mine.
Mine! - God, I thank Thee that Thou hast given
Something all mine on this side heaven:
Something as much myself to be
As this my soul which I lift to Thee:
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,
Life of my life, whom Thou dost make
Two to the world for the world's work's sake, -
But each unto each, as in Thy sight, one.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Violins
I am just another fool
And I have to keep telling myself that
I am just a hypocrite
And I have to keep calling you one
And I forgot to bite my tounge
And my assumption was the mother of all mistakes
So I assume the role, open my mouth, and clumsy words escape
So why you wanna be there when you could be here
you are slipping away
I awake with your replacement
A bottle in my grasp, in an unfamiliar place
Because you put me out
The butt of a sick joke
Into this ashtray life
As you come and go
And I forgot to servie you and we broke down
And you can't live with my mistakes
So I assume false grace open my arms
And grasp at something true
How are you
How have you been
Girl I miss you, wanna see you again
So why you wanna be there
When you could be here
You are slipping away
I bring the worst in you and you try and let me know
You bring out the worst in me
Anxiety, anxiety
I'm trying to let you go
You say I'm giving you the creeps
So I assume the role
Open my claws and grasp for your heart
How are you
How have you been
Girl I miss you
Wanna see you again
In to you like a mortal stake
So vindictive your love's slipping away
Violins (the but of your sick joke)
Violins (into this ashtray life)
Violins (I'm tryin' hard to let you know)
Violins (into this ashtray life)
(woo yeah)
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Violins
I am just another fool
And I have to keep telling myself that
I am just a hypocrite
And I have to keep calling you one
And I forgot to bite my tounge
And my assumption was the mother of all mistakes
So I assume the role, open my mouth, and clumsy words escape
So why you wanna be there when you could be here
you are slipping away
I awake with your replacement
A bottle in my grasp, in an unfamiliar place
Because you put me out
The butt of a sick joke
Into this ashtray life
As you come and go
And I forgot to servie you and we broke down
And you can't live with my mistakes
So I assume false grace open my arms
And grasp at something true
How are you
How have you been
Girl I miss you, wanna see you again
So why you wanna be there
When you could be here
You are slipping away
I bring the worst in you and you try and let me know
You bring out the worst in me
Anxiety, anxiety
I'm trying to let you go
You say I'm giving you the creeps
So I assume the role
Open my claws and grasp for your heart
How are you
How have you been
Girl I miss you
Wanna see you again
In to you like a mortal stake
So vindictive your love's slipping away
Violins (the but of your sick joke)
Violins (into this ashtray life)
Violins (I'm tryin' hard to let you know)
Violins (into this ashtray life)
(woo yeah)
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I like the sound of violin
Sharp and probing
Pricking like needles
My heart is numb and painful
Acupuncture violin
Pricking my heart my soul
I become lost too unbecoming
My defined peace
It is here in settled absences
Nothing fills it
Now it must be something coming new
Filling pricking needles of violins
Make me live make me pain some more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Work To Make It Work 99
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Dont confine your dreams to bed
Youll get scared if you get lazy
If you cant take enough to satisfy yourself
Then youll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it dont come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that Ill try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you dont succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to m
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Work To Work
Happy too
Work...
Un happy too
work...
Love too
Woork...
With out love too
Work...
Silentely work...
Tenson to work...
Peace too work...
Diperession to work...
Work with work...
Any time do any
Work...
Work is give for
Human...
Relax and releave...
Sad too work...
Woory too work...
Work too work...
Work is wondrfully
Changed your and your's life
Each every day
Don't take un wanted rest
With your's lazey...
Lazy making
Sad... dipression...
Tenson...
Useless thinking...
So...
Work is wonder fully
Chnage to change for your's...
Mind and thinking and your's life...
Woo
Work to work with you
And other's...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I hate work so
I hate work so
That I have found a way
Of making one small task outlast the day.
I will not leave
The garden and the sun,
In spite of all the work that should be done.
So when I go
To really make my bed
I've made it ten times over in my head.
Then as for meals!
I think I'd rather be
A nervous wreck than make a cup of tea.
The fire's so low
It isn't any good—
While I sit planning to put on some wood.
One thing is sure,
I pity other drones,
God having made me such a lazy-bones.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!