Sunday Morning

Woke up late

Well after eight

The curtains drawn

and I feel worn.

I lie there for a while

Trying to bring a smile

For Sunday morning

You’ll catch me yawning.



Some people I think

Are always in the pink

They’re up bright ‘n’breezy

They make me feel queasy

Off to a car boot sale

No time to feel stale

They go for a swim

On the slightest whim.



Don’t they ever feel tired?

For they are always wired

Even on a Sunday

They want to make hay

Bags of energy to spend

Don’t mean to offend

But they are so shallow

Their lives quite fallow

No depth in thought

Just, “look what I bought!”


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