Mornings

Soft rustling feathers
On my window’s bar
Filter the golden threads
Of the scarlet star

A cool spring breeze
Caresses my hair
And echoes in the room
Like an honest prayer

The green velvet carpet
Sparkling with dew
Muffles the gentle steps
Of the hazel doe

These wonders of the morn
Breathe with mild scorn,
“Wake up you moron!”
As I mutter “Blurrghh” and keep snoring on.
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8 thoughts on “Mornings

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