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My day begins
At the crack of dawn;
With audible groaning
As I stretch and yawn.
While the coffee perks
I shower and brush;
Then I make up my bed
In a last minute rush!
I lock up the house
And start my car
Then head for my job
Which isn't too far.
In ten minutes flat,
And with badge in hand,
I arrive at the gate
Of "Penology" Land.
You may call it the pokey,
The Pen or those jailed,
But it's the Women's State Prison
For those who've been nailed!
From the razor-wire fence
To the one hundredth lock,
The place is foreboding
And to a novice - a shock!
In slang, I'm a "turnkey"
As in key-turning guard,
Plus a wall-to-wall watchdog
From Death Row to Yard.
The Danger is constant
For I hold THE Key...
The Key to the lock
That could set them free!
So stress it is!
From six to two,
Until the last Count,
When my shift is through!
If nobody's missing
I escape to the road;
And head back home
To unwind and unload.
Now a convict is given
Three "hots" and a "cot",
Where I've had to pay
For all that I've got.
But would I trade places?
No! No Sireee!
For they are locked up
And I'm walking FREE!
So here is my Prayer
To God each night:
That I'll be a beacon
Of hope and light!
"Lord, let me walk
So close to Thee...
That others will see
Your reflection in me!"
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