Yonder see the morning blink:
The sun is up, and up must I,
To wash and dress and eat and drink
And look at things and talk and think
And work, and God knows why.
Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what's to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times I've done my best
And all's to do again.
-- A. E. Housman
I thought I would post an example of the type of poetry (ie one of the actual poems)my dad sent me while on my mission. The man never served a mission; how did he know?