Friday
The world sighs audibly
When the work clock strikes home time
And we feel the shackles of the week
Fall off and clatter
On the floor of our labour
Shoulders relax
In the comfort of knowing
That the world is in no rush
To crack the whip again,
Nor does it care to win the race
All minds hush
In the silent magic
Of the cool evening
As sleepy heads nods
To the rhythm of their dreams
Andrea Vermaak
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