Missing Morning

Summoned obscurely by the orange, tinny glare the sun-struck promised afternoon an amulet to wear With wild indignation we unrolled our weary lids as we stretched and writhed our way beyond the fringes of our beds. We passed by coffee temptings and we headed straight to lunch With crinkled hair, no savoire fare, we kept our back bones staunch There's always a pit in the stomach when you break out of bed at noon The infernal plight of the night owl - the morning comes too soon...