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I saw that all the labor, And skill in our work; From envy of his neighbor, As vanity from a jerk. Vanity striving of wind, Vexation of their spirit; Of not being disciplined, In what one that would merit. For the foolish fold their hands, And his own flesh he will eat; Stressed out from the demands, Fear of dreading a defeat. Handful of quietness is best, Than full toil of two hands; Striving after wind to test, Vexation of the demands. Demands again that I saw, Vanity under the sun; As I toil through the fall, Working till the day is done. One person has no other, Living life having no end; Neither a son nor brother, Nobody to be a friend. His eyes never satisfied, With the riches of his wealth; For all that is bona fide, Having no spiritual health. So, for whom am I toiling, Depriving me of pleasure; Within my thoughts are boiling, With an abundant treasure. This also is vanity, And an unhappy business; Filled with gross profanity, Motivated to transgress. For though a man might prevail, When a he is not solo; Having warmth with no avail, If others are not also. Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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