Whither I wander,
Whither I roam,
Ever onwards I wander,
But, I hardly ever get home.
My work seems unending,
Days pass into weeks,
There’s always too much to do,
Without getting much sleep.
If it weren’t for phone calls,
From you each day,
We’d never make contact,
On each waking day.
At three in the morning,
These words I do write,
A new day is dawning,
I hope it be bright.
To bring you my wishes,
For a good Birthday this week,
When alas, I’ll not be with you,
But with you, I’ll definitely speak.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 5 October 2004
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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