Once on a time, the days of the week
Quarreled and made bad weather;
They wanted to know which one was best
And so they disputed together.
Monday said, "I wash the clothes;"
Tuesday said, "I iron them;"
Wednesday said, "I bake the cakes;"
Thursday said, "I try them."
Said Friday, "I'm the day for fish;"
Said Saturday, "The children love me;"
Said Sunday, "I'm the Sabbath day,
I'm sure there's none above me."
Now as they quarreled a tempest arose,
And all of them screamed together;
It blew and rained and hailed and snowed—
There never was such weather.
Old Father Time was passing by,
And heard the hurly burly.
Said he, "I hear something wrong;
It's well I got up early."
Then all the days began to tell
Their virtue with great clatter.
But Father Time cut them short—
"My children, what great matter?
Your natural gifts are all the same,
Each day has its own beauty;
That day is best whose deeds are best,
That worst that fails in duty."
Father Time
A Fictional Short Story by
Agnes Taylor Ketchum & Ida M. Jorgensen
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