Manual Work Works Poem by Sonny Rainshine

How I wish I were not so lazy,
then I would not get so crazy
when misdirected energy and stress
puts me under duress.

I’ll bet the man who toils in the fields
or assembles windowshields
never spends a restless night,
sleepless, frazzled, and uptight.

Desk work may be of worth
but rarely offers any mirth.
Constructing houses or picking peaches
surely beats giving speeches.

Fatigue of the body seems sweeter
than weariness from making meter
and I would wager that manual work beats
poring over yesterday’s spreadsheets.

I often think about jobs I used to do;
with the sun on my back, how time flew!
I’m tired of not being tired,
but too much a coward to get myself fired.