I greet the morning balefully,
Not sure if I am sad or glad of its approach.
I mourn the comfortable hours of the night, and my warm bed.
My tired eyes grieve the lost hours of sleep,
Previously wiled away,
In front of the fire.
How could something we miss entirely, be so delightful?



But nonetheless, I drag my sore, half asleep body,
From the protective shell of my bed,
And greet the upcoming day.




There are good things about the day too.
The freshness of the breeze,
The clouds rimmed by the suns gold,
The chance of a new day.



I stand in the cold drive,
Waiting for the day to unfold,
and though I know,
Many good things,
May come about,
I still wish for my bed.