FOUR more Saturdays will come and go
Ere from this place we turn our toe
In fervid jubilation.
Four more days will see the end
Of February, chilly friend,
A month of consummation.
Four more hours I’ll be in bed,
Where there’s warmth and rest for head;
Four more seconds I’ll be done;
Almost finished, nearly gone,
Now for cook’s collation.
25. 2. 1928