I slouch, coffee cup in hand
Yawning, wondering what’s the use
Why not creep back in bed
It’s warm relaxing there?
I hear the early roar of cars
The whoosh of tires in rain
The bleak grey sky trembles
And flings a deluge again
It’s uninviting up to-day
If I stay pen in hand
Who will read these lines anyway?
No! Persevere I say
The poem is for you, your soul
The reading’s only incidental!
