Good morrow , Oh! my sorrow.

Morning is,

waking up to the chirping birds,

meowing cats,

barking dogs,

rustling of leaves,

buzzing bees;

Wait…that was a dream.

When waking up felt blissful

Now is just dreadful;

I hear the birds squabbling in trees

Dogs barking at cats

Cats killing rats,

while buzzing bees turned

to honking cars

and loud feet.

Where is that morning dream?

When I was naive to dream

Of nature lulling and waking me

Where she placed me close

and I could sense the breeze

When my days were not manic

and everything wasn’t a panic

When people sat and ate

Talked and planned their day.

Now this morning in my wakened state

I am saddened by this fate;

Where I don’t look forward to morning

And all her grace

Instead slumber seems futile

When there is no morning to move

Me and wake

Into a mood of possibilities

Now all I need is just more sleep

As morning turns to – Routine.

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