Sunday Evening

In the twilight of Sunday
With sun fading fast
I sit and I contemplate
The things I have done

Too quickly, I'm finished
And thoughts have moved on
To consider the endless list
Of things not yet done

Not called my poor father
Nor written to friends
Not e-mailed my mother
Or completed work errands

Not uploaded new photos
Or rearranged old
Nor from this past month
Have I filed away post

I've not purchased the gifts
To be given at yuletide
Or shopped for the food
To be eaten this week

In short I have spent
All my time on the net
Playing games, hearing music
And writing to you

Dear Reader, you are
Most entirely to blame
For my constant inaction
And sorrowful state.