Taxes

It's the end of the year, after all the fun,
I realize now, there's much to be done.
My income tax, dreaded job of the year,
Enough money to meet it is all that I fear.

I gather the bills and all the invoices.
Oh, how I wish I had other choices.
Add, subtract and work thru the night.
At last it's done and I turn out the light.

I roll up my sleeves and write a big check.
I'd like to ignore it, but what the heck,
Uncle Sam needs every cent he can get.
There's never been a surplus of funds yet.

I live in America, where standards are high.
There plenty to enjoy till the day that I die.
I can keep what I have and cultivate more,
The many good things sort of even the score.

by Edna T. Helberg

Other poems of EDNA T. HELBERG (2)

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