A Morning Poem

I was woken early morning when
The earth lay cool and still,
A tiny bird had perched upon
My concrete window sill.

He sang a song so lovely,
Oh so carefree and so gay,
That all my dreamed-of troubles
They just slowly slipped away.

He sang of far-off places,
And of laughter and of fun;
It seemed his very trilling
Had brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers,
Creeping slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window
And crushed his f**king head.

I’m not a morning person.

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