The Singing Garden

The Ground Thrush

C.J. Dennis

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 as 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.

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