Sunday morning

A sad Sunday

Waking up to another Sunday morning
a woolly morning that does not even have the sense to rain
The day is just hanging like a dirty blanket
That should have been sent to the dry cleaner, as it is full of snot and spots
of unknow origins
Cold feet on the kitchen floor,  cold cheese in the fridge, the butter
It's as hard as rocks. This morning is pointless, like an unwanted day invented
by an evil mind
No, I will go to bed again and not get up before sunlight
shines in my eyes
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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