Poetry

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I saw that all the labor,
And skill in our work;
From envy of his neighbor,
As vanity from a jerk.

Vanity striving of wind,
Vexation of their spirit;
Of not being disciplined,
In what one that would merit.

For the foolish fold their hands,
And his own flesh he will eat;
Stressed out from the demands,
Fear of dreading a defeat.

Handful of quietness is best,
Than full toil of two hands;
Striving after wind to test,
Vexation of the demands.

Demands again that I saw,
Vanity under the sun;
As I toil through the fall,
Working till the day is done.

One person has no other,
Living life having no end;
Neither a son nor brother,
Nobody to be a friend.

His eyes never satisfied,
With the riches of his wealth;
For all that is bona fide,
Having no spiritual health.

So, for whom am I toiling,
Depriving me of pleasure;
Within my thoughts are boiling,
With an abundant treasure.

This also is vanity,
And an unhappy business;
Filled with gross profanity,
Motivated to transgress.

For though a man might prevail,
When a he is not solo;
Having warmth with no avail,
If others are not also.

Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer

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