— a poem of potpourris.

9 to 5

If you need me, you know where I’ll be. If you’re asking why, now you know.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Monotonous routine, run-of-the-mill
simply typing my thoughts away.
They’d never be seen or be spoken of;
never going in for the kill.

Chained to my desk, from 9 to 5;
all one with dust and termites.
I’d only live from inside the hive,
never knowing how I’d be deprived.

The bus was always my solid ride,
And we’d do it again in the morning.
But for now, I’ll settle to my baby girl
sleeping soundly to my heartbeat.

They say money can’t buy happiness
but it certainly buys mine.

I’d do whatever it takes to see her smile.