On Monday’s dawn, the world awakens anew,
With dreams unspun, and skies so blue.
The bustling streets and hurried feet,
Begin the dance of time’s retreat.
Tuesday whispers with a gentle sway,
Promises of progress in its embrace.
The midweek’s heart beats in silent grace,
As hopes and plans find their place.
Thursday’s glow, a beacon bright,
Guiding onward, through the night.
The week’s crescendo starts to rise,
As Friday’s laughter paints the skies.
Saturday blooms with joy and rest,
In its arms, we find our best.
Until Sundayâs gentle, soft retreat,
Prepares us for the cycle to repeat.