Monday's Beans 16:01

A poem about losing a loved one.

Monday's Beans

This life is but a pot of beans;
Monday's are meant for death, the traitor wins;
Not a man and I tell you, never seen;
Yet rings the bell everyday at noon.

There or not, the difference it makes;
In this mirage, one thing I'd take;
On Sunday glee and eat Sunday's rice;
For come tommorow, we're faced with Monday's beans.



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