A work-week draws close to its end, and I
Cannot my happiness at that deny
Or at the longer break that stands hard by,
Even as I know the joy is made
By games that owners' forces have long played
And that a time of rest will be delayed.
For I well know that breaks from one workplace
Do not mean breaks from others. The work-pace
Will shift its rhythm for a little space,
And I will work more in another role
Than I do at present. It's the toll
I pay to climb from out a fiscal hole.
Yet steep and slick are the sides of the pit,
And I but little grip e'er seem to get.
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