Upon the far horizon, Day
Sat down, his feet to rest.
He’ll stand the morrow without pay,
A servant, not a guest.
For Day arises, comes to wait:
A butler, runner, drudge.
He’s still, for charge to set his gait;
Without one, will not budge.
He’ll be a therapist, and stretch
Your whims and limbs and mind.
Or, he will nurse you as you retch
If you’re the drinking kind.
For dissipation or advance,
He’s at your beck and call.
So use your servant ev’ry chance:
He steals – and takes your all.
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photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWS22wo/seashore+reflections
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.
he is a wonderful servant,, never a guest
Yes, and we must put our servant to work.
sounds like a mother, whose love knows no ends
In some ways – yes.
Oooooh, this one’s a “thinker.” Very good work, Dennis.
Thanks. I’m glad I finally produced one that isn’t thoughtless. 🙂 Just kidding!