They call me sloth, they scoff and jeer,
“Get up!” they cry, “The goal is near!”
But while they chase and pant and sweat,
I sit and dream—and don’t regret.
Let others chase the rising sun,
And race the clock till day is done—
I'll lie beneath the willow's shade,
Where thoughts are born and worries fade.
So judge me not for slower pace—
Some dreams they need a gentle grace.
While I recline with half a grin,
And find the universe within.
ChatGPT
