Everyone can rhyme, but who has the time
to spend their days grumbling about the sublime?
Who cares to be querulous, who wants to be serious?
It's menial work which can make one feel like a jerk;
it has no redeeming perk, and it is impossible to shirk…
But at least it's work.
Job never lost his job.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem