The days we spend away, in play,
Are short, but also heady,
And folded 'twixt the weeks of gray
Employment, keep us steady.
I don't demean the work day, though:
I'm only being fair.
Can labor beat out leisure? No:
There's nothing to compare.
Still, pleasant as our leisures are,
They lack in drive and purpose,
Which may be why we drive the car
To work, and let them work us.
If readiness is all, then we
Are readied by our resting;
Though five days later, most agree,
Work's much less interesting.
Yet recreation too can pall,
And finally turn to ash;
And when it does, we hear the call
Of work (its call is "cash").
We're always glad to take our leave
And gain the rest we lack,
But when we're done with that reprieve,
We're happy to be back.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, February 4, 1994.
c 1994, 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.