Wednesday. Poor Wednesday. I feel for you, with such an inauspicious moniker. Ill-fated from the start really. Yet here I sit at nine in the evening smiling at my computer screen. I have an ongoing list of things to do. I feel okay about it. I cross things off each day only to add new items. Wednesday this poem is dedicated to you. xo
Your in the middle,
Known as the hump,
though I doubt that you care!
Your minutes pass, the way minutes usually do.
One way or another,
I find my through.
I like you as much as any other day,
and spend you in a variety of ways!
Time will continue to tick,
and you will always be the brick,
that hold the week together,
rain or shine,
whatever the weather!