I always hate the morning best
in the best way you can hate something
I wait for it to pass and rest
In its grave till the morrow’s morning.
I wonder when it comes again
Every time a sad surprise
You’d think I’d know its schedule
And be more quiet when I rise.
But every morning it comes again
And every morning I wish its death
But days just never start at noon
Despite what’s said under your breath.
A Soul's Walk 
Very, very nice!
Thank you.
I have to say this amuses me–it reminds me of what a friend used to say, that he got up at “the crack of noon”.
That is the best time to get up.
I really love this. It reminds me of a very picturesque vision of depression. Was that your intent?
Not really. I am depressed at least every morning though… so maybe I unintentionally did want go give you such a vision…
mornings, ehe? Me too.
=) make that monday mornings for me…=)
(chuckle)
When the night brings true refreshment, the mornings are most welcome, I have found. But some are happiest as “night owls”–so be it!