I do not want to work today.
I did not want to yesterday.
Meanwhile, the work pile flourishes.
I wish it would just go away.
Tomorrow, I will have to do
The things that I should be doing now,
And now, I worry about the things
That I should have done the day before.
But the more the waiting work pile grows,
The more I want to laze and play,
And so I’ll just procrastinate
Until it’s almost far too late.
There’s always life at the eleventh hour
As the avoidable becomes your certain fate,
But until that point, my work will be
Just some thing I contemplate.