he stumbles out of bed and trips and falls
the floor approaches with such speed hes in awe
he hits the floor and is bruised black and blue
he says to himself, 'good morning to you'
he steps into the shower and opens the faucet
he is hit with an icy blast that makes him yelp
he fiddles with the faucet for a little support
it replies with verve, a blast so true
scalded he says to himself, 'good morning to you'
he approaches his office with a scowl on his face
as he opens the door he drops his file
he bends to retrieve the tasks he has set
his head and the door bid each other adieu
he says to himself, 'good morning to you'
behind his desk he laments to himself
and in the distance he hears a shout
joy and enthusiasm abundant in voice
he counted to ten and as if he knew
on the count of ten he heard, 'good morning to you!'
I like. You're a bona fide poet!
ReplyDeleteGeez, one of those days eh? Loving the poem!
ReplyDeletei officially hate weekday mornings....totally get this guy
ReplyDelete