I get up in the morning and greet it with a sigh,
Shuffle from the bedroom with hair and brain awry,
Totter to the bathroom with sorta knock-kneed gait
To beat an urgent urging, that does not want to wait.
Today I’ll write some verse I think
Pick up the pen and spread the ink.
The toaster in the kitchen, has features new galore,
It burns my bread, then pops it up and flings it on the floor.
The lurking ants are waiting as they do most every day,
Big and stout, they scuttle out and whisk my toast away.
If I have time I’ll write a rhyme
On ants that steal that toast of mine.
The dream I dreamt last night still rankles
My PJ’s slip down to my ankles,
I stoop to grab, and stub a toe
So say some naughty words I know.
The telephone begins to ring,
The toaster has another fling,
The ants are back, I’ll never eat,
I might as well go back and sleep.
I’ll close my eyes in sleep and sorrow,
And maybe write some verse tomorrow.
By – John Pickersgill