Poetry - 1 - Monday's cild

 

Monday’s Child

 

 

 

Monday’s child

was bright as a new dawn,

and bloody as hell

 

Tuesday’s child

was seemingly blessed with laughter,

although she would be anyone’s darkest daughter

 

Wednesday’s child

was wild and wicked,

and would ring your bells, anytime you wanted

 

Thursday’s child

had the sweetest touch,

her fingers would strike you with lightning

 

Friday’s child

was rockin’ and rollin’,

and would go on and on, without pausing

 

Saturday’s child

was dreamy, like a soft breeze,

her whispers would haunt your wildest dreams

 

Sunday’s child

was a penitent and religious soul,

but horny as hell, she could take you to heaven

 

 

 

Mark Robson - January 2006