While aurora beams from the east

The idle hand shuts his eyes

Into deeper heart of sleep

Enemy of dawn

Lover of noon

Victim of dusk

His field grows into shrub

While breathe still in him flows

The idle hand’s lips

Swift at cock tales.

Trace his paths

Your missing treasure gets recovery

When the day grows half

The idle hand’s joy grows full

But quietly comes the evening

He remembers his stomach,

And turns a retched beggar till dusk