Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
...
Who gave thee, O Beauty!
The keys of this breast,
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
...
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
...
Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
...
Mondays Child Poem
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Anamika, you messaged me to rate your poems. Not to be rude, but the the terms of usage says to post your OWN poetry. This is not your poetry. It is the poetry that has already been written by the masters.