The first poem I wrote my father loved

I have shown my father my poetry over the years and he was always pretty blah about it. He encouraged me to the extent he could but since he isn't really into that kind of thing he never went further. That's fine, not everyone loves poetry, but I have sometimes wished that I could write a poem that he would really love. Well, yesterday I wrote a pompous and self important poem (in my opinion) about work. I showed it to my Dad on a whim and he loved it!

He told me that he felt the ideas I expressed were worthy of Mark Twain or Charles Dickens. I hate Mark Twain but Dad loves him or I take it as a huge compliment. So, anyway, here is my poem. Ignore the pompous wording.

I Want Not But That I Should Be Occupied:

Lay on thy whips O life!
I want not but that I should be occupied.
I languish and wither at play,
and glowing, burn at a task. Man is not so beautiful
as when some duty bends his brow,
nor woman so fair when her task demands.
Pleasures never ask of us the depths
that duty plumbs: we’re never our best selves
when at our ease. Pleasure is dross and duty fire
and under both we shine. Yet gold was never
pure while smiths and fires were at rest. Let us
be doing! Whether our task be as great as a King’s
or humble as the char maid’s sweep. Let us not be idle,
lest we wake to find no work to be done.