Poetry Break

Poems are usually posted on Wednesdays around here, but a little poetry is a good thing on any day of the week, imho.  Life has been busy, and much of it centered around work. So I smiled this morning as I stepped off the train with R.E.M. in my ears singing “Finest Worksong.” (You never know what that shuffle will bring you.)  So here’s a poem about work to keep you going through the rest of the week.

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

— John Milton

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