Week of work, would that you were already spent,
and some rest before me - leisure, art and friends!
My body and soul admit, one day of rest
is not enough; better we worked more like the French!
Or like the Spaniards with rhythm Siesta,
and countless others, like the natives in Australia
who spend a day to hunt and cook; their morrow cool,
not cause for panic, but like a storybook.
Jesus Himself in the dawn of His commissions,
laid down His orders mid the cooking of fishes
and bread - breakfast on a beach - God our age!
Prodded misery and gargantuan waste;
all present-tense; no tingling, not-yet-turned page!
People spend their lives without full earth's taste,
while falls the final play of a long, long jest:
how from birth, the damned New World never learned to rest.
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