Hard-handed men with hammers bang on nails
Atop a roof they’re building blocks away
Beside whose effort my poor labor pales
As I sit in this easy chair and play,
Devising lines of cadences and rhymes
To build another moment’s monument,
A chronicle of sedentary times
Inspired by visions sometimes heaven sent—
More often, though, pedestrian, like this
Tee-tum, tee-tum, a morning walkabout
Devised by ingenuity, not bliss,
Hack work with little artistry to tout.
It seems those carpenters are on a break,
So, I’ll shut up myself, for heaven’s sake.