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 . . .
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2 comments:
Hi, Joey! I checked out your blog, which is quite nice, but you don't mention which park you're a ranger at. Which one is it?
Actually, it was always one of my secret dreams to be a park ranger for NPS, but it was never a very realistic one. The closest National Park I can think of is Castle Clinton, which isn't that exciting.
hey lia. I've decided to explore the realm of poetry blogs since I have one as well.
I love this. I gave up rhyming ages ago because I couldn't make it sound literary. it just sounded like I couldn't find enough words to rhyme with love. but you do it well.
I like the imagery of the fields and toil, and I relate with being frustrated with procrastination yet still procrastinating.
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