No toil shall undo it
neither on Monday nor on Tuesday.
No task can distract it from its purposes
of a Wednesday or a Thursday.
It keeps Friday holy
and takes Saturday off
and on the seventh day it rests
just like all the other ones.
The loss for the workworld
is a gain for the sofa,
just gentle praying
that sounds like snoring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem