whens friday -poem
Home is where the heart is they say.
And home is where i whant to be this day.
For i long to sit and relax
As i am toiling tired and taxed
My form is adrift upon this worked soil.
My soul is withered and arms burned from all my toil.
I ache and weary are my bones ,long i have felt thus
Long in time did i enjoy the day,why do i put up with all this fuss
I wish to be so far away, to not feel these pressures
a far distance i would be this day.
Oh what i would give to have a new life find new treasures
Live the dreams all might share
In these dreams we all can compare
Happiness is never out of supply
how this isn't i wish i knew why
Easy a life sure can be But alas truth is all about me
To work and toil is all i know
back is bent and head hangs low.
Maybe i shall run from it
Someday to just up and leave
But now i'm just glad to be able to just sit.
no more climb or press or heave
For moments pass and break is on the fast
And work returned as it will allways last
So off i must go,home is where my heart is but home i am not at
This is work and that.... is that.



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