Daily Couplets - 0466 - not after Mark Twain Those Annual Bills

Monday Morning, full of dread, we pray
the postman no new bills will bring our way.

Tuesday brings no more, and still we wait
while writing verses making light of weight.

Wednesday wears on, wilts, no more to bloom,
while wor[l]ds spin out till they themselves entomb.

Thursday's thunder mocks the toiling throng,
its joys as passing as its hours are long.

Friday freedom offers those who, tired,
for weekends long when, working week expired,

they taste on Saturday the just reward
of toil and trouble, free from all discord.

Sunday is a pillow-time between
the week to come and that which has just been.

(26 October 1991)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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