SESTINA SATURDAY: In Which I Muse On FREE, Copyright, And Work

A weekend? Not for me; I go to work
As though it were a weekday. I'm not free
As others are. This obligation's mine:
To be here when I'm needed. It's their right,
Those who do pay my wages so to choose.
I sell my time, exchange it for my pay.

But what I do, the toil for which they pay
Is not what I regard as my life's work.
My livelihood is separate; I choose
To keep my purpose clear and my mind free
Pursuing what I love, as is my right,
But never treating my soul as a mine.

While others' paths are diff'rent, quite, from mine:
They trade direct their musings for their pay,
I do not find, for me, that this is right.
My job allows me to pursue my work
As I see fit, and thus I write care-free,
When, what and how thus just for me to choose.

And there is this, too, in just how I choose
To publish and to share this work of mine:
You, reader, see this poetry for free.
I don't depend on willingness to pay
And make a gift of my improving work
Which you accept, or don't, as is your right.

In honesty, the thought of copyright
On this is really not something I choose
Or else I would not blog; I'd hoard my work
Until I found a way to profit. Mine!
I'd cry, you cannot read until you pay!
And this diminishes what should be free.

We once believed that all mankind was free,
And born that way, each endowed with his rights.
Now more and more it seems we're asked to pay
In various coins, surrenders. Do we choose
This actively? I think not. Friends of mine,
You let things slide 'cause stopping them is work.

I gladly pay for good stuff that was free,
In gratitude for work that's been done right.
But still insist the right to choose is mine.