Mornings

Tick, tock, watch the clock,

Wonder how I had that thought.

Getting up is such a chore

When your feet won’t touch the floor.

I don’t know what I thought

When I set the clock for nought.

Crazy, seems, to get out

Of these comfy covers, now.

Do you blame me, even so,

For being tired and moving slow?

I’ll be up, soon as I

Catch a little more shut-eye.

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Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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