Saturday, March 21

A thought filled poem

sometimes saturdays seem so lonely
and sundays seem so solemn
Mondays asre a moment
and tusedays more stoic than a roman column
wednesday is distant
and thursday looking sad
friday once again goes quick
and thats a week to be had

maybe as the months go by
the pace will pass and quicken
and then when years have comed to pass
a slowness they will sicken

but for now each day so seems the same
and drifts by evermore
and sleepily we dream it by
forgetting to wish for more

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