Un-productivity are simply those who spend their day
staring, staring at sky-gray, stuck on boredom, whiling 'way.
Hands say 'please, grant me today! let me craft and mold the clay!'
Staring eyes say 'Hey, no way! I don't want you bruised today!'
Horrible fate; wrecked display! What dreams slain to join this fray...
But eyes that dream, hands obey, or death would sooner come betray.
Worlds have burned and come what may but all that's left is memory
So one must work the craft to stay and please our mind of yesterday
For in those hands that fateful day will hold the blue depths of gay
-- Man's height: Mozart, Monet -- All one needs: realize today.
Does art that shines with lasting sheen stand by buildings smiling green?
It works day & night for eternity (will smile on those who earn their means.)
They swim all day in endless sea, bigger, bigger than one's dream .
For memory of the employees, stands as one: the company.
And for all sacrificing fees, they are productivity!
But what's the end when all is old; Buildings dead; hands bled-cold,
When staring eyes are quiet and lulled, great franchises crumbling, sold?
We must work hard if we be told that all our work has turned to gold.
Hurry now! The clock has tolled, our dreaming hours less controlled!
Hands must go and fight, be bold, before they fall into the mold.
1 comment:
We must work hard if we be told that all our work has turned to gold.
i like that line. a lot.
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