The Truth About Envy

I like to see the flowers grow,

To see the pansies in a row;

I think a well-kept garden's fine,

And wish that such a one were mine;

But one can n't have a stock of flowers

Unless he digs and digs for hours.

My ground is always bleak and bare;

The roses do not flourish there.

And where I once sowed poppy seeds

Is now a tangled mass of weeds.’

I'm fond of flowers, but admit,

For digging I do n't care a bit.

I envy men whose yards are gay,

But never work as hard as they;

I also envy men who own

More wealth than I have ever known.

I'm like a lot of men who yearn

For joys that they refuse to earn.

You cannot have the joys of work

And take the comfort of a shirk.

I find the man I envy most

Is he who's longest at his post.

I could have gold and roses, too,

If I would work like those who do.