Melody

Now turns our world from dark to grey
Slumber yields not her soft embrace
Despite the miracle of day
presenting whate'er we now must face
Not ours to know which course to run
The shades and lights of what may fall
We long to once more feel the sun
Relieve the cool oppressive pall
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I have no idea why I wrote that down.
I found it scribbled on a scrap of paper along with some Tolkien-esque poems written to be played on harp or lute. Perhaps I was thinking of the Shire.
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Labour day.
I delight in being off. On behalf of workers everywhere allow me to enjoy the day in utter languidity. Ah, it is good to be me.