WEDNESDAY

Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
So I’ll raise her on my own,
Fill her life with decent grace,
Send her, loving, on her way.

Hers is a smile that I can’t see, no,
That I can’t see, no,
How I long to, though.

And all the while say it can’t be so,
Say it can’t be so,
But, oh, I know.

I have no mind and I’ve crippled my
Child, do you know how it feels to cry
Little dark marks upon a lonely plank,
From which you’ll hear my last song sang.

I may not have a home,
But I can write a poem
Where we can find some solace together.

And if you feel alone,
Please pick up the phone ’cause
I may not know my way around a letter.

Yours is a smile that I can’t see, no,
That I can’t see, no,
How I long to, though.

And all the while say it can’t be so,
Say it can’t be so,
But, oh, I know.

Thursday came, and went forlorn.
The weekend? She was never born.
Monday, Tuesday told me so:
Wednesday’s child is full of woe.

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