Eight Days A Week

“Eight Days A Week” I love you, but three of them I cry;
When I take you to your workplace, and we have to say goodbye!
For if we had our druthers, you would never punch a clock;
We’d be together twenty-four seven, clipping coupons from our stock!
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But we’ve had some real adversity, our coffers slowly drained;
When we’ve always had the Midas touch, such great financial gain!
We thought it would be never ending, we spent like sailors on a leave;
So now, we have a crisis, that only income can relieve!
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For both our Social Securities, leave us fifteen hundred short;
Of what we need have monthly, so we chose our last resort!
You came out of your retirement, three days a week you work;
While I pine for your companionship, and slowly go berserk!
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I hope soon I can amend this, and build our fortune once again;
My expertise in the Art Market, provide all we need to spend!
But until I can correct it, and be ever at your side;
“Eight Days A Week” I’ll love you, but three of them I’ll cry!
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Parting is sorrow
Not so sweet as Shakespeare wrote
Sour tears fall freely