The Calendar
The Calendar
A calendar hangs on the wall.
A clock beside the bed.
Another day is about to dawn,
But all my world feels dead.
With pen in hand I cross the date,
We’re one day closer now.
I check the clock lest I be late.
‘Tis the working hour.
These two things now govern my life.
Inanimate objects though they be.
They keep me from my loving wife,
But slowly set me free.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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