Work, Work, Work


Toil is the only recipe for survival,
Those who shun it, lean and unhappy die,
Toil is the talent the old master gave to all,
Multiply it, and he shall richly reward thee.

Wise son, despise neither her nature nor dress,
Detest not her, lust after her as youths with folly desire wine,
Only she will walk you through your youth and anciency,
Only she will love you till your heart fails.

Work, work, work and work alway,
Riches to amass, control of men to cage,
Seek her lovingly, follow her biddings alway,

Into gold than of Midas, your touch shall become.

Comments

  1. UnknownApril 16, 2017 at 12:09 AM

    Brother, you are indeed good and ur poetry pieces are so amazing. You have a future

    ReplyDelete

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