You, lazy with nothing and yet ye lay on thy bed bare
Bare in your head, bare in your heart and yet with laziness you have an affair
As to why, and you splutter gibberish as reason
Fatuous you thinking success comes in season
Don't ye know that ye has to plough thy land before down comes the rain?
And that if ye wait for the rains before ye outset ploughing then ye shall miss the rains?
Don't ye know that from the abundance that thou needs to spare some for thy seeds?
And if dissipation is how ye treat thy abundance then ye shall have no deeds?
And doesn't poverty's stroke leave to your back discomfort?
One that you wake up to and find is collateral to comfort?
Why then ye not sacrifice with pain for a few days that ye may gain and have hay even when the grasses are dry?
Why then do you have to stay with such discomfort that you even see them in your sleep?