Sloth

It's midday yet he's sleeping still

It's time that he'd most like to kill

And being late's his special skill

His day? It's going pretty chill

x

He'll say that he *is not* lazy

It's you who work so goddamn hard

But working hard is just crazy

He'd rather live life as a bard

x

A man of words but not of deeds

Except, of course, for eats and sleeps

Instead, of others deeds he reads

His vital energies he keeps

x

On lock and key incessantly

Now don't you dare say he's a snore

He's listening quite pleasantly

Perhaps it's *you* who is a bore

x

His lazy bones don't like to work

He doesn't see the point you see

It's life that he's trying to shirk

All that responsibility

x

So don't tell him that he should try

He will not buy into your lie

That everyone should strive to fly

He's happy snoozing in his sty

x

This is the fourth in a series of seven poems on the Seven Deadly Sins; if you're interested, you can find the other six here: Pride, Lust, Wrath, Gluttony, Envy, Greed.