Poetry

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I saw that all toil and skill,
In the envy of his neighbor;
About the joy that they instill,
Performing duties to labor.

This is merely a vanity,
That is striving after the wind;
Acting as though insanity,
While being undisciplined.

For the fool has folded his hands,
His own flesh that he has eaten;
Blocking his ears from the commands,
Someone acting like a cretin.

Better is a hand when quiet,
Than two hands with full of toil;
Like violence in a riot,
Or a child that you spoil.

For vanity under the sun,
One person who has no other;
So in the end what has been done,
For either a son or brother.

There is no end to his toil,
His eyes are never satisfied;
Deprived pleasure makes him boil,
Angered not being gratified.

Two are always better than one,
Because they have a good reward;
Once all the toil has been done,
Both relieved as in one accord.

If one falls the other uplifts,
But woe to one who is alone;
Another grabs if the load shifts,
One catches when a ball is thrown.

If two people lie together,
They are keeping each other warm;
But times when they do not gather,
Icy bodies will then form.

Even though a man might prevail,
Against someone who is alone;
But two will withstand to entail,
Surpassing what the one has known.

Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer

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