Seven days a weak


Monday has come and gone

And Tuesday has passed too,

Tell me, what has night done?

And say, what will it do?

I wish upon Wednesday

For soft rain and some shine,

For that strange pain of mine

To bow before the Sun… Hey,

What if Thursday was lost?

Would Friday make it right,

And, if so, at what cost?

Saturday is in sight,

Yet this sorrow lingers,

I can feel the white sands

Slipping through my fingers;

The messenger still stands –

She will soon come to bay

Not ever to be kept

Not even by Sunday,

Not even if I wept…


I’ll be gone

In a day or two

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