Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Customers receiving, head aching
But toothily smiling, voice quaking;
Far into the night candles burning,
While he could feel his tummy churning…

Chains of enterprises he’s running,
Much energy burning, mind cunning…

At Eleven PM starts packing
But up keeps to ‘A’ Must’ no slacking;
Goods once spread now behind doors of wood:
A face sure tomorrow shall be good!

That’s Cohen for you: The Conqueror,
Never The Made To Make An Error;
Though side by side he’d stayed with terror,
Now glimpsing the normal, soon horror!

For reply bursting into laughter,
So that host saw not the new chapter 
“For life I’ll remain in foreign land:
Back home profit will never be grand.”

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