The Mood Of My Mornings
I get lazy when a dream of you is being delivered
to me, I find awakening a difficult task,
as I see you in the vision,
bringing a flood of fire,
you leave nothing more to ask.
In a place where the weak sun
lightens enough to see your face,
I find my hands with thousand fingers
insufficient to get your grace.
Before I touch you, I get bounded
by dawn dragging me back to another age.
No touch, no kiss, Alas! no more you!
and my day begins, disappointed, In an awful mood.
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