Have you not heard of the sluggard?
Who sat on the branch of that rosewood tree?
He took upon himself a certain stridency,
Mocking all who passed him with decree:
“There is no tree, there is no tree!
Look up, look down, there’s nothing to see!”
Meanwhile, the mantra of his heart conceited,
“There is none as clever as me!”
And yet, many stayed and tried,
But pleaded with him to no avail,
For the man was filled with pride,
Indeed, the vocation had turned his heart quite stale,
For years and years of vainglory,
Had girded him to believe the lie,
But now knowing very little of why,
Always looking with, but not through the eye,
All at once, there was a resounding snap,
And he plummeting toward the ground,
It was never the snare, it was never the trap,
Yet, he cursed the tree all the way down,
For in his vanity, arrogance and pride,
He rejected the truth for the lie,
Now a spectacle for all to see,
Behold the sluggard who sat on that rosewood tree.
