Sing a hymn to leisure:
Serve me, beguile me, make me forget.
Damnable thorns! I crush the rose underfoot,
to suffer no more the jabs of beauty’s imperative .
Wretched, that love of beauty should thus escape me.
Flying furiously past obscurity, darkness, and neglect,
to wallow in murky pools of selfish denial,
and to breath deep the waters of indignation.
...offered by Dn. fdj, a sinner at 1:42 PM [+]