Iím floating free on Fridayís cloud,
As Saturday sets sail.
I lavish on the Lordís day,
Recounting each detail.
The brie inside the fridge,
The wine, itís poised to pour.
The awful apprehension
Of someone at the door.
The buzzer bristles through the air,
Awaiting a response.
My finger taut and ready
As evening nears its launch.
The pressure plied, heís on his way,
The shaft, it shifts its gears.
The elevator opens,
A lanky lad appears.
This verse was stymied from the start.
I set it down a spell.
The story goes I lost my heart,
What more is there to tell?
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