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...
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