Too tired to move, I flop lazily across the bed.
All kinds of silly phrases dance crazily in my head
Today is Thursday, the endless week is almost through.
I can’t wait for Friday, though I can’t figure what I’ll do.
I think I’ll sing a ballad, or dance an Irish jig.
I’ll eat everything in sight, and I’ll make myself a pig.
Maybe I’ll laugh all day like a crazy, batty loon.
Maybe I’ll collapse in bed, and sleep ‘til Saturday noon!
Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman