Ode To Work In Springtime

Oh, would that working I might shun,
    From labour my connection sever,
That I might do a bit - or none
    Whatever!

That I might wander over hills,
    Establish friendship with a daisy,
O'er pretty things like daffodils
    Go crazy!

That I might at the heavens gaze,
    Concern myself with nothing weighty,
Loaf, at a stretch, for seven days -
    Or eighty.

Why can't I cease a slave to be,
    And taste existence beatific
On some fair island, hid in the
    Pacific?

Instead of sitting at a desk
    'Mid undone labours, grimly lurking -
Oh, say, what is there picturesque
    In working?

But no! - to loaf were misery! -
    I love to work! Hang isles of coral!
(To end this otherwise would be
    Immoral!)

        Thomas R. Ybarra.