...
Rain beats against the window
steering in the morning.
The cat,
Shadowed by the dark
and baring tiger teeth,
goads me to resist the day.
But I oppose that ever quick dawn and,
like some nighttime beastie,
Hiss back at the hairy horseshoe
For I prefer to dwell in dullness.
The feline retreats.
Now must I galvanise my senses to rouse.
else would I wallow in a soup of sadness
But looking out at the rain
I choose the soup.