Peeking through a window from his post
A donkey saw a roof all white with frost
I’ll stay inside, he said, so I can repose
Let foolish men to ice their limbs expose
About the frost his owner couldn’t fret
“Get up, you bum, aren’t you ready yet?
We cannot follow our own intent
Our will to our needs has to be bent”
“O master, my bones protest with pain”
Complained the donkey with a roaring bray
“It is not lack of will, I do declare
Working in this cold it seems unfair”
“My friend, my bones crave the warmth of fire
Seldom life will yield to our desire
We have toil whether sick or cold
Rain from heaven falls, never gold.”
Master and beast in silence made their way
To their field they trod on that cold day
Bowing their heads, they couldn’t walk with ease
Their shivering bodies battered by cold breeze
Weary and cold they returned at night
They sat down to have a meagre bite
In silence, not knowing what to say
Nursing their aches, dreading a new day
Time went by, it was already late
Exhausted, they bemoaned their brutal fate
“This poverty is a curse: when will it end?”
“We are trapped without escape, my trusted friend.”