I'll kick the cat then stir the fish,
drink stale, cold coffee from a dish.
I'll rise at noon, that's my new dawn.
I find my mornings so forlorn.
Get dressed. No shower, no shampoo.
Another day to muddle through.
A crumpled skirt, a blouse that's torn.
I find my mornings so forlorn.
I think I should have stayed in bed,
my purple feathered hat looks dead,
my army coat is bald and worn.
I find my mornings so forlorn.
I'll kick the cat then stir the fish,
I find my mornings so forlorn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Kyrielle Sonnets can get stilted because of their form. Hope this is not my case