O ye Unsung generation,
Dodging the walkway to limelight,
Minute by minute in your minute might,
Come out of your lazy tunnel,
And hear this tale,
Of how a head became a tail.
Far in the vast forest of greatness,
Where a strike of the pendulum worth millions,
Is a bloke,
Bitters by the screech of the cock at dawn,
Calling all goose and gander to work,
A crow to productivity,
A call to activity,
Stretches his hands,
As of an eagle set to fly.
He says ‘Oh, I feel dead today’,
‘I have no debt to pay’,
‘Tomorrow is a good day to give a try’.
Yesterday awaited today,
Today await tomorrow,
And tomorrow, the next.
An epitome of a time well wasted,
A gift for work compacted.
Waited too long and his life passed him by.
A vitória nào é certo,
For a battle not fought.
At dusk when the sun crawls home,
And all creations to their abode,
Smiling without considering their teeth,
And the moon set to take post.
The joy of a lazy man fades,
Hopes and dreams dies,
Remembers different kinds of sadness.
Procrastination is a thief of time,
Retrieves all master plans,
Procrastination is the lazy man’s apology for failure.
Don’t be a victim!
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