The idle days can sometimes be the worst
The days when there is nothing else to do
But wander aimlessly through things rehearsed
A thousand times before, when nothing new
Seems to exist beneath the boring sun
When all TV is reruns, and the books
You have around have all been read, each one
Still well-enough remembered that brief looks
Reveal the plot straight off, and make it hum
With dull predictability. In those
Long-stretching times of leaden tedium
Still something in my soul more hopeful grows
For when the hours pass, however they
Creep in their path, we're closer by a day.
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