I am Friday and here I am to tell my story,
Along with my best friends, Sat and Sunday,
Who accompany me to make life easy,
For those who befriend us rather than Monday.
There is nothing hidden about our identities,
Our attributes are cogent and clear,
We don’t change colors, like the chameleon,
Our length is steady, the air without fear
Unlike other days which can assume identities,
When envy rules, insanity shines,
At the peak of summer or when the frost bites,
The weekdays come flocking with unending fright.
You guys flock to them, the Mondays and Thursdays,
And start showering them with all your love,
Little realizing it is because of us,
When they get glued without much fuss.
Our package, the weekend, as you know us,
Is all but lost in a black hole,
Vacation, Holidays, you give it different names,
Smiles grow wider, they grow in fame.
Travels are planned, lights get lit,
Chimneys start huffing and puffing in fits,
Cookies are baked and parties arranged,
Music gets louder, pictures get framed.
The three of us, get stuffed in all the plans,
The weekdays’ cheeks get pink in the fall,
The colors keep growing through the white of snow
As I grow colorless in their ego so tall.
But as the Earth finishes off another circle,
And rips through the showers called the Ursids,
As the jingle gradually vanishes in the opaque winter,
The wraps come off, their looks asunder.
Monday, Tue, or any weekday,
Don their evil attire and frightening looks,
And charge towards you with all their might
Hapless you sit and wonder, so contrite.
You turn your eyes towards me,
Begging me, to embrace you, hasten a bit,
Ever so merciful, as we are,
Ready to be the balm for your mood so sour.
Remember, holidays come and go,
You are at their mercy, their unpredictable whims,
The seasons have their little pockets of balm,
But nothing beats my frequency with all its charm.
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