The sun is bright
the sky is blue
the pond is wet
and my butt is cold.
Yeah, maybe the ducks are cool
but all I hear is squaking
slashing up a silent morning.
Yeah the leaves are fun
but all I see are dead tree's.
Mornings are not meant for pretty poems.
They're meant for sleep.
I waited an hour with a freezing butt
all for a bright glare in my face
and still a freezing butt.
Maybe I'm just not feeling it today.
Or maybe I just suck at writing.
a pretty poem
is not what you'll find on this blog today.
All you get is some pessimistic words
on what should have been beautiful
and a few complaints on how my butt is freezing cold.