Had we but world enough and time,
This no reply would be no crime.
We would sit down and paint our nails
And give no thought to our e-mails.
You by the salty, sandy sea,
And I, reading under a tree;
We would both have some needed fun.
Enjoy some time in the bright sun.
A hundred years would go to sleep
Under a cozy blanket heap.
Two hundred to having cute flings,
But thirty thousand for new things.
Only in the last age would we
Check mail and write, “I’m so sorry
for late reply! Things going well?”
Of course not. Things are far from swell.
For at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd deadline hurrying near.
Deserts of vast eternity
Do not yonder before us lie.
You have your life, I understand,
But I also have mine — how grand.
I sent you something on Monday.
Three days have passed, what do you say?
Now therefore, send me a reply,
Or else I’ll wonder, did you die?
It doesn’t need to be that great.
Just don’t tell me I need to wait.
So far, I’ve been quite nice to you,
But now I don’t know what to do.
If you insist on being coy,
Perhaps I’ll crush you like a toy.