Sunday Night, Monday Morning

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!