Seventh Day
And on the Seventh Day the Lord did rest,
With feet-up on a cloud –
And hereafter, in Sunday best,
We imitate his weekly quest
To switch-off from the crowd,
For ev’ry Seventh Day, the Lord makes clear
To leave the fields unploughed.
For on this day the Lord is near –
So don’t have too much fun down here,
Incase we get too loud.
But what do you suppose he does Upstairs
When punched-out from the week ?
When through with listening to prayers
And judging sins and love affairs,
And blessing all the meek,
Kicking-back with a glass of manna, say,
Or visit Zeus the Greek ?
Or maybe give the spheres a play,
Or take a jog round the Milky Way,
Or give his beard a tweak ?
Thus ev’ry Seventh Day, to decompress,
He rests his weary head –
And he commands we acquiesce
To give up any busyness
And copy in his stead.
So we must waste the day with filling pews
And quelling Monday-dread –
Half our weekend in a snooze,
A seventh of our lives we lose,
Because he swings the lead.
Rhyming Couplets 