Philosophical Poetry Week: Woeful Wednesday

Wednesday’s woe has come again Washing o’er my longing brain All the way down the long dark drain. Sat on a bench with naught to gain, I stare on bleakly in the rain. But lo what thoughts do I ordain? I stand, I sit, I do refrain From leaving down that winding lane Instead I go, to another plane In which the moon is on the wane I stumble blindly on in vain I care not for the passing train The blowing wind doth keep me sane From giving in, to the mundane Yet Wednesday’s woe remains my bane