Cold dark mornings: a poem

I hate to get up in the morning

when the sun is still in bed.

I’ll spend the whole day yawning

with a fuzzy aching head.

Outside it’s cold and dark and wet,

not tempting in the slightest.

I haven’t properly woken up yet,

my thoughts are not the brightest.

I could do with a little more sunshine

to put my mind in gear,

or else I’ll be shuffling like a zombie

every morning until Spring next year.


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