Carpe Diem
A sonnet meant to remind you that your work will always be there tomorrow.
And now the day is almost halfway done, How best to use the hours that remain? It's time to race the setting of the sun, To make sure time is not wasted in vain. I guess I could work just a little more. Or maybe I'll pop out for a quick jog. I could go home and finish up some chores. There's too much that needs done to catalog. It's hard to know just how to seize the day. I might need a long lunch to make a plan. To sit and eat a sandwich in the shade. It's still called "work" when working on a tan. I'll jump back in the rat race after this. But not before this momentary bliss.
Whether the day is overladen grief,
Filled with vague worries that’ll never come,
Which rob the morning’s glory like a thief,
tomorrow, perhaps, is a better one.
When in the swing of things it seems so brief,
These few allotted hours spent in the sun,
With full-green strength as the new leaf is lief,
Now fainted in the night, what’s dun is done.
But in my bed, the chief import, is peace,
The tingling stress is left its course to run,
My blanket is the only thing of fleece,
Its warm-weight, i do not flee under from.
Perhaps tomorrow a merry-go-round,
Perhaps tomorrow a burial shroud,
Perhaps tomorrow these varicose veins,
Will walk among the steep marigold planes.