Making A Whole Week Poem by Sanjeev Nanda

The whole week I toil, any more I shan't
I seek recourse, homely chores I can't
do when I'm home finally, making sense
of this whole week I wiled away unwillingly

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday pass away,
as promise to make my bed on Saturday.
Wednesday and Thursday are the worst,
a drop of liquor I thirst.

Friday finally comes, and goes
as I dream of Saturday that will come
I sleep and wake up Sunday, a whole week I toiled
any more I shan't, homely chores I can't

My bed still remains unkempt, coiled