The Ground Thrush

I'm a business man; and I can't spare time
   For this fluting and fussing and frilling.
The song of my cousin may be sublime,
   But I never have found it filling.
So I run and I dig and I dig and I run,
And I'm at it soon as the day's begun,
And I never knock off till the light is done
   Over the garden and lawn and tilling.

I'm a business man on my business bent,
   And I've never an hour of leisure.
I have little regard for sentiment,
   And I fritter no time in pleasure.
But I dig and I run and I run and I dig;
And you never see me at my ease on a twig,
Prinking and posing in holiday rig
   Or trilling a tuneful measure.

I'm a business man, and I've much to do;
   So the day's work must be speeded.
For time is fleeting and worms are few --
   I've never had all I needed.
So I run and I dig and I dig and I run
From sun to shadow, from shadow to sun,
I'm a business man, and the world I shun;
   So I live and I die unheeded.