Holiday
Work,
Again;
When will this working end?
When will be life without work?
Do this…
Do that…, the master always tell;
And this hard wall is turning soft, ‘cos of hands in swell;
When will I have a day in peace?
When can I get my life back, as a baby?
Yesterday’s work, loaded;
Today, also loaded;
Patience, mon ami, your wish you’ll see. Morrow’s free.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
