A Good Morning Poem
The earth lay cool and still
When suddenly a tiny bird
Perched on my windowsill
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
And gently shut the window
And crushed his 'wittle head'
I'm not a morning person!
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