Mornings I hate,
Especially when I first awaken.
Always in a tired state,
And feeling forsaken.
An annoyingly bright light,
And rustling sounds.
I have dimmed sight,
While my head pounds.
Refusing to get out,
Of my warm comfy bed.
Then a loud shout,
Rings in my head.
I’m drowsy for a while,
But work hard all day.
I never get to smile,
For I’m lonely in every way.
Which is why I write,
These depressing rhymes.
Either at night,
Or at other times.
Then I lie down,
With tired, sore parts.
Lying with a frown,
For tomorrow it restarts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem