Productivity

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When I bemoan the little I have done
from dawn to dusk—the promises unkept,
story unfinished, kitchen floor unswept
panning my conscience like a pantheon;
when, looking for some task to seize upon
and nail, only to find each one adept
at leaping from my hands (the laundry crept
away, I chased it, and it split and won),
I only have to listen to one song—
go ahead, call me lazy, call me lame—
to know the day repaid a thousand loans,
because all songs need listeners; their fame
occurs in quiet, and whatever wrong
occasioned them, one pair of ears atones.

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