Monday to Friday a slave,

Nine to give a corporate drone,

Piles of bills like cascading wave.

All a man’s got left is his home.

.

A lull life of grey hue,

Long days and monotonous queues.

A means to an end,

With a garden to tend.

.

Long days reach their climax,

With once more vibrant colours

When one can ignore a fax,

And sit down to his supper.

.

Home sweet home,

A man sits on his throne,

Weary to the bone,

With A smile pastered to his dome

When at last he is home!