Poetry

Up Early (#453)

I know I tend to get up nice and early,
But don’t you think this is a little squirrelly?
At this hour not even the undead are awake,
The morning is still silent and deeply opaque,
Stirring shadows of life slowly emerge,
It’s still hours before night and day merge,
Why on earth did I feel need to be upright,
I should be slumbering in the blanket of night,
About being up, I’ll certainly not rejoice,
But the sad fact is that it was truly my choice,
Gah! What the in the hell was I thinking?
Did I make this insane decision while drinking?

Any Thoughts?

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