The day doesn't seem to take,
It's started slow,
I cannot wake.
What am I waiting for
What's different today
No work to go to
She's avoiding me like the plague
Wonder what she's doing
She has a rule
Doesn't talk after work
We're workmates you see
She holds the rule fast
When she breaks it, I ask
Why? But no answer comes.
She must have her reasons
But I know better than to ask
I know no answer will I get
She's like that.
From her rules she doesn't vary
She's steadfast like that
Don't talk to me after hours
If I do, she won't answer
She said it to my face,
If you can call it that,
Over the phone one day
She just ignores me
I guess that's the way she copes
Doesn't let her guard down.
Doesn't want to think of work
After hours and no-one.
Unless she needs something of course
Then don't you dare not pick up the phone
Egoism at it's best, I know
That's the way she is.
Doubt she cares how she seems
Too absorbed in her dreams or fantasies
Probably likes solitude
I can understand that
Or needs distance and space to rest
I concur with that
Doesn't bother me,
As I too am like that.
But alas sometimes I miss her
And would like to hear her voice
Guess I better do something else
I have no choice
She will not budge
She steadfast in that.
She drives me mad
And I wish to pay her back
Let her taste her own medicine
But when she calls
Because she needs a friend
I forget all my decisions
And be of help
How sad is that.
No wonder she treats me like dirt
I let her do it
Despite my resolutions
I'm weak where she's concerned.
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Comments about this poem (Saturday Morning by Holly Moon )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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