poems

Drowzy

Drowzy

17/5/17

It’s a drowzy kind of morning.

The cobwebs tug my eyes.

Clouds of misty heavenness in a world that’s not baptised.

The slumber leaves me gently.

Forgiveness hasn’t left the stock.

A scratchy kind of shave required as I gaze over at the clock.

There’s too early and there’s Monday.

Somewhere between the two is today.

I stretch without remorse as my smile fades away.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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