The working title for your next essay is:
Why Global Warming is a Hoax
You want to do one book a year, so you have to work steadily!
Supplement to the Last Jeffersonian
The working title for your next essay is:
Why Global Warming is a Hoax
You want to do one book a year, so you have to work steadily!
“I see all these big shots whining on my evening news,
About how they’re losing billions and it’s up to me and you
To come running to the rescue.”
Yes, but let’s not forget, the taxpayers offered big bailouts before any big shots requested them.
That's enough for now, then,
Stop pushing your perennial pen.
Climb those blasted stairs, my friend,
Sleep’s the eternal cure for men.
Before you close your eyes for everlasting rest,
Ask your master for peace and freedom, lest
When he comes to take you home,
He finds you guilt-ridden, lying prone.
But what, I ask, what if I don’t finish
The work you want me to accomplish?
What’s the joy in that, to go up there
With so little to show, portfolio bare?
“Who are you to say, you haven’t done what I asked?
How can you know the full compass of your life’s meaning?
Do you insist that every accomplishment draw its own picture
In your mind? Do you discredit all the invisible deeds
That don’t feed your ego and lift your self-esteem?”
I won’t try to answer you, Mr. G.
Except to say that I agree.
Take me home, early or late.
By your grace, I’ll watch and wait.
Let me pray, though, one brief hope,
That you reveal, when you’re with me,
What my life meant, beyond its scope.
What did I accomplish, when I couldn’t see?