Every tick of that clock grew his urge.
The stress of the day, he wanted to purge. ”Why couldn’t, now, opportunity and preparation merge?”
To create luck, and bring it to the verge.
Everyone he asked, it seemed to vex ‘em. (As evidenced by their beet-red complexion). ”Sympathy must be somewhere?” (He tried to ‘net’ some.
But was only left in the, “NO WAY!!” section.
He’d either do the work, or he’d be canned. That was his boss’s immovable stand. He made the rules. This was his ‘land’. And took pleasure in using a heavy hand.
His chance to play golf was now in the pit
He couldn’t get away from the office, (despite his whit). If only he could leave; if only he could ‘split’ Just one swing; at one ball…he salivated to hit!
He wanted to smell the fresh cut grass The longing a man feels for a lass. ”I’ve got to get her! Got to ask!”
”Is there anyone who will take this task?!”