Let's see if I have woken up
with a poem in my heart,
as Elena, my poet-friend,
has wished for me.
Morning gives me a blurry brain,
moderate energy of body
asserting itself against
the sluggishness of mind.
I wake to a hundred small annoyances,
needles if not swords of Damocles
going after my harried soul:
people to call, things to do,
errands and tasks and repentances.
I wake up grateful to have done so,
grateful for the instant coffee
making the nerves alert.
The forecast says 54 degrees
(twelve to you folks who reckon
in Celsius) and rain all day.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
Read 152 times
Written on 2018-01-23 at 11:38
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