Tanner's Poem

My Friend Procrastination

What sayest Thou is man's best friend?
If thou thinketh it the dog,
Thou hast better guess again
For of truth, says I
His greatest friend must be
The one that ever beckoneth
to man, both me and thee
It's name is Procrastinate
And a handy friend it be
Whilst burdened by my labors
It always setteth free
To me it speaketh good things
"Thou hast more time indeed"
And with my chores forgotten
I draw or sleep or read.
Yet always it becometh
That my time is somehow spent
And regretteth I that costly gift
That my friend so kindly lent

Men such as I spend their days
To entertain such friends as he
Blinded to that the fact that now
He hath become their enemy
They putteth off their work
to sleep and dance and play
Saying "I will save the work
for a far-off future day"
Yet much sooner than expected
The day at last will come
The bell will ring the fat lady sing
and their toes will all feel numb
Surely one amongst them
will with emotion say
"I had not time to do the work,
Please grant another day."

On and on the story goes
of men who procrastinate
Who setteth aside their labor
for chance to recreate
Their fields are never plowed
Their houses never cleaned
Their knowledge never furthered
Their vineyards never gleaned
Their dreams never realized
Their songs are never sung
Never are their fortunes found
Their races never won
Their repentance is delayed
Their good name is diminished
They leave this world without their mark
Their poems are never