Who can know why this is so
That one day stands supreme,
To soar above the working week
And all that found between.
The daily urge, the routine dirge
Of tedious tasks to hand,
Which drive the head to boredom.
And tax the patience bland.
To struggle through this midweek glue
To land at joy contrived
For then arriveth Friday
The proof we have survived.
Friday, joyous Friday
When birds come out to sing
And sunshine at it’s glorious best
Radiates on everything.
Children yell and grown men laugh
Great wondrous things abound
As Friday spreads its bounteous wings
And herald trumpets sound.
To ensnare this magic essence
To bottle it for all,
Would save our suffering planet
And sound salvations call.

M.
Friday ,23 November 2018