a sort of punishment

[fledgist]

fill up the bucket and don't spare the time
each of us needs to work and then to rest
we see and so we fear the coming test
all of our memories have turned to slime
what's now forgotten is the steady climb
which we began with energy and zest
knowing our purpose certain in our quest
but now it seems an awful sort of crime
there's a long walk from home down to river
and back again up the slow weary hill
but we must make it to assuage the thirst
a memory alone would make us shiver
knowing that soon will come the urgent bill
so we shall drink the water till we burst