Sunday Night, Monday Morning

I get in bed from rain I hide
under covers deep inside
where I like to be
where my bed and I seem to agree.
I'm tired, a physical state.

A humming in my ears
tells me I'm up too late.
with legs of jelly, feet like lead
I feel am the living dead.

At around the midnight hour
there's a tapping on my window
from a midnight shower.
There's no one in the streets below.
The cold is now begining to show
it's winter time but I'm feeling warm
although I'm not on top form.
A manic Monday lies ahead
So in the meantime
I savour this moment in bed.

I wake to hear traffic below
To see outside falling snow.
I smell fried breakfast waiting to be
washed down with a mug of tea.
It's Monday morning lazy and still
I'll ring work tell them I'm ill!