A Donkey

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.”