81

On many an idle day

I grieved over lost times

Moaned and groaned and rolled my bones

But there is no lost time

You've taking every moment of mine and put it into yours

Hidden in the heart of things

You make seeds into sprouts

And hidden in the heart of things

You make buds into flowers

And hidden in the heart of things

You make flowers into edible things

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed one night

And I imagined all the work had ended for the night

But in the morning I woke up and found my house was bright

What majestic treats do you still have in store for me?

A breath of death, a day of rest and, oh, make me wealthy

And in the arms of your old charms, let me forever bask

Is that too much to ask?