Call It a Day
Slow down, sweet night; patiently wait,
Although your soon coming is desired,
For young folks, perhaps a special date,
Time of rest for those who are bone tired.
But when you come, "Call it a day,"
The unfinished, raveling threads
Hang there in accusing disarray,
Until plan with its completion weds.
Though eager foot awaiting skips,
Or sighs of weariness are breathed,
Should spontaneity the work eclipse,
End, sadly, with no good achieved.
So number we our days and hours,
So when the whistle blows or clock says," Done,"
Time for both work and smelling flowers,
And rest are ours with the setting sun.
©04/21/2012 Carol Morfitt Welch