I was happy this morning, as I woke up in bed,
Then realized it was Monday and I faced the day with dread,
For somehow, whatever comes my way, my temper is displayed,
Just mentioning 'it's Monday', my nerves, they become frayed.
The day will be just a ' write off', it's no good me trying to do
Any sort of reasonable job, things won't go right. It's true!
It's like a 'cloud' which hangs around and never let's you be,
Whatever I attempt to do, disaster follows me.
If I could sleep through Mondays, then that would be just bliss!
Then Mondays wouldn't have happened, I'd have given them a miss!
© Ernestine Northover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem