Work Day Blues

the grand old poem
called "work day" came round
again, without any
connivance from me.
i looked out the window
and saw the faded
gray pavement where just
lately I kissed you.

it seemed as if your
departure came without
any interval
since your arrival-
i wasn't prepared
to see you scamper
away so quickly.

i wondered if i'd
dreamed you, but i saw
you took time to take
your breakfast, lunch, hand-
bag and coffee cup

your departure came
fast as falling snow.
it's a wonder i
didn't lose my sani-
ty; one instant you're
beside me, the next
you have disappeared.

weekdays love this rhyme
so well, they never
tire of repeating
it, so sweet and whole-
some is the work day,
simple and moder-
ate, satisfacto-
ry and perfect, that
her children never
weary of it either.

what a poem! an
epic in blank verse
enriched with a mill-
ion tinkling rhymes.
it is solid beau-
ty. it has been sub-
jected to the vic-
issitudes of mill-
ions of years and not
a single super-
fluous moment is
left unmolested.