a morning poem

[ramtops]

I woke early one morning
the earth lay cool and still
when suddenly a tiny bird
Perched upon my window sill.

He sang a song so lovely
so carefree and so gay,
that slowly all my troubles,
began to slip away.

He sang of far off places
of laughter and of fun,
it seemed his very trilling,
brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers
crept slowly out of bed
then gently shut the window
and crushed his fucking head.
I'm not a morning person.

[anon 2002]