Procrastination

A field planted every season
Soon wears out its soil
It can't support the constant growth
Despite the farmer's toil

It must lay fallow once a cycle
However long the cycle be
If it cannot, it will rebel
Proven fact in history

The field of the mind should not
Follow this example through
It should delight in bearing fruit
Be they many or just a few

It seems, however, that the spur
Necessary to sprout words
Is impending work; it begs
Imagination to be heard

No is not sufficient stop
For the active mind at play
The only way to buckle down
Is to reprove all delay

It's been a while; no excuse
It never was before
It's only now it takes import,
In the face of a daunting chore

So Stop I say, and no more lies
There's naught you can protest
It's waiting for attention now
Get to it - now - lest . . .