I hate work so
That I have found a way
Of making one small task outlast the day.
I will not leave
The garden and the sun,
In spite of all the work that should be done.
So when I go
To really make my bed
I've made it ten times over in my head.
Then as for meals!
I think I'd rather be
A nervous wreck than make a cup of tea.
The fire's so low
It isn't any good—
While I sit planning to put on some wood.
One thing is sure,
I pity other drones,
God having made me such a lazy-bones.