Cushy, was the matress,
The pillow, just right,
Suitably darkened, was the room,
Purified with vaccum and broom,
The air was conditioned perfect,
Even milk and honey,
Had drunk, the ad exec;
But near, the deadline loomed,
And she tossed and turned.


Blazed, overhead, the midday sun,
Neither matress, nor pillow,
The mason woman had,
All around-sand, brick and dust,
Trucks rumbled, mixers groaned,
Shouted to each other,
Her labouring companions,
Yet on a pile of painful rocks,
Peacefully she slumbered.