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A Reason of Reality
What richness does a vessel hold,
On steamy days when the brew is sold,
Or perhaps a cup that's deep and warm,
At midnight hour in midst of storm?
But I would no-longer wish a cup,
If instead with conscience sup,
That calls for tenuous labour done,
On the reality of the work already begun.
Some they say 'tis a life of ease,
To rest eyes upon the books and leaves,
That may well contain a future bright,
But first it must be addressed right.
In lengthy read and repeated task,
That stresses soul yet plants the arse,
In front of desktop, texts and such,
To extend the mind is the true crunch.
So I will sit and first switch off,
This errant way of poetic stuff,
And look hard and long at word’s type,
That if not cripples, may improve my life.
