A little rhyme to comfort you,
And keep your empty hours
From getting woebegone and blue
Beyond these balmy bowers.
A poem ere we part again,
And idleness benights you,
Till Monday lifts your heart again
With labor that delights you.
We're sorry you must go away;
We papers, which you shuffle;
But as our end is to allay
Your pain, our own we muffle.
The weekend, while it's difficult,
Wings swiftly in its flight
To Monday, when we may exult:
With you here, all is right.
Be glad, we pray, and pardon us
For what we lack in cheer:
The hours shall lay hard on us
Until you reappear.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, April 21, 1995.
c 1995 Brian Kunde.