Holiday Poem by Cyrus Diaz

Witness again the ancient
drama of the earth
solemnest of industries
enacted upon the country
stricken by noise,
sick of the city,
wanting to get away,
wanting my little old abode
but thanks God it's holiday.
seems like prosaic day,
vehicles groaning
see the workers going
home before dark,
but me?
with nothing to do,
nowhere to go to
with no one to talk to
I just sleep all day and
thanks God it's holiday.