This day is call’d the feast of Furlough. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Furlough. He that works not this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say “To-morrow is Saint Furlough’s.” He will open his wallet and show his scars, And say “These debts I had on Furlough’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he’ll remember, with advantages, What chores he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- the FAA, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines; Federal Courts, Departments Justice, Labor, and Education Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Congress’ Furlough shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we hapless few, we band of brothers; For he today that shirks his work with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in corp’rate now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their careers cheap whiles any speaks That did no work upon Saint Furlough’s day.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Jun 2013 16:28:42 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015