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You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will;
You may worry a bit, if you must;
You may treat your affairs as a series of cares,
You may live on a scrap and a crust;
But when the day's done, put it out of your head;
Don't take your troubles to bed.
You may batter your way through the thick of the fray,
You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt;
You may be a jack-fool if you must, but this rule
Should ever be kept at the front: —--
Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head
And kick every worriment out of the bed.
That friend or that foe (which he is, I don't know),
Whose name we have spoken as Death,
Hovers close to your side, while you run or you ride,
And he envies the warmth of your breath;
But he turns him away, with a shake of his head,
When he finds that you don't take your troubles to bed.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Edmund Vance Cooke (1866 - 1932), often referred to as "the poet laureate of childhood," was born in 1866, in Ontario, Canada. He began working at the White Sewing Machine Co. factory as a teenager and stayed there for 14 years, until he became a self-employed poet and lecturer in 1893. His first book of poems, A Patch of Pansies, came out the next year. Edmund is a fine and highly entertaining poet whom many critics consider underrated; he published sixteen collections of poetry during the course of his career, plus many children's books.
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gatoblanco:
I like the suddenly sinister turn---"and he envies the warmth of your breath."
Posted 06/12/2015 11:56 AM
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transitions:
Yes, great 'poetic' advice. Wish I knew how to do that!
Posted 06/11/2015 04:39 PM
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mjs.ontheroad@gmail.com:
Lovely poem and such great advice!
Posted 06/11/2015 11:27 AM
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Wilda Morris:
Great advice!
Posted 06/11/2015 09:04 AM
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Supa:
Just wonderful, now if I could just figure out how to follow that advice. Anyway the poem is great fun.
Posted 06/11/2015 05:32 AM
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