The Scrimshanker's Choice

The sun climbs up, the day takes hold,

A list of tasks, both new and old.

The tools lie waiting, sharp and true,

The work is ready — meant for you.

But in the corner, soft and sly,

A whisper says, “Let this one lie.”

Why toil and sweat and chase the grind?

Just scrimshank now — they will not mind.

He fakes a cough, he claims a pain,

Escapes the job, avoids the strain.

But every task he leaves undone

Becomes the weight of everyone.

A teammate sighs, another bends,

To carry what he won’t defend.

Their backs grow sore, their time runs thin —

While he walks out with a lazy grin.

Yet work ignored does not just fade,

It stains the path the honest laid.

For every lie, excuse, and shirk

Erodes the pride of honest work.

But some stand firm through sweat and heat,

They show up whole, they don’t retreat.

Their hands grow rough, their will turns steel,

They live the truth that others feel.

And I am one among that line —

Whose sweat is proof, whose hands define

The worth of work, the grit it takes

To build a world that never breaks.

In every field, with every role,

I give my craft, I give it whole.

No matter how the weak may flinch —

I’m not a scrimshanker — not an inch.

They scoff and stall, they duck and drift,

But I stand tall, and I uplift.

Through soil or steel, through words or flame,

I earn my bread, I sign my name.

The job is hard, the praise comes late,

But effort carves a braver fate.

And when the page of life is turned,

It shows the weight my hands have earned.

So take the tools, ignore the lies,

Let scrimshanks fall while I still rise.

In every field, in every frame —

I do my work. I earn my name.