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I will not wear
This uncrowned air
Longer than suits me
Sire I may be
And all this kingdom
Leaning on my arm
Day after day
From day to day
Wheat may be plenty
In my fields
Enough to feed us all
And lay some by
For quakes and shadows
Should they come
I’m not a man to gamble
With my sons
Their meals and fortunes
Or my wife
But if the end
Of all my sowing
Is to stand
Raking the dead leaves
Of same days
Might as well cash me in
Sure and safe
Then you can eat
As many Sundays
And their trains
As you have stomach
And desire
To eat without me
I’ll be damned
Dead or still living
If my hand
Turns to no living
But to pay

(c) 2004 Mark Penny