After the eight, I try to lock my gate, let love, peace and joy rule my fate, before it's too late.
I want to go home, had enough of this work. Slavery is a better name, it and work are the same. I work hard all day, don't make enough pay.
No one gives a ham, even no bread and jam. Looking for a sugar coat, might as well not gloat. The proof is in eight, sore legs do dictate.
When the green gets in hand, I'll need a magical wand. Poof , its gone that quick, what a magical trick. Eight hours in the day, Sixteen left to rest, relax and play. Don't seem like enough, life can be rough and tough.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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Love Tinka
"After 8 hours" sings wit-wise, leaving a stimulating sound
to wake up the logical mind.
I enjoyed this poem, "After 8 hours".
Healthy creative life, Poet!
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
I'll need a magical wand.
Poof ,
its gone that quick,
what a magical trick."
Great lines! Another nice one, G.