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Working is a dreary task
That prowls throughout my day.
In the sun I'd rather bask
And spend my hours in play.
Yet the work of daily life
Demands I do my part
And I must face the daily strife
While I starve my hungry heart.
And still my poet's soul
Longs for distant hills.
Nature's wealth to keep me whole.
My job to pay my bills.
5/14/01
© Copyright 2001 Bandit's Mama (UN: sandybrace at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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