C Richard Miles
Not Grudging The Slumberers - Poem by C Richard Miles
My bus slopes slowly through the fog-clogged streets
Of humdrum London's all-too-early morning;
I'm off to work as hundreds hug their sheets
Or stretch, quite unimpressed by this day's dawning.
The sun is yet to rise; the cold cuts deep
Despite the layers of woollen winter clothing.
As others snatch some extra, precious sleep,
Snooze-buttons pressed, I must press on, still loathing
The chores I have to do, the daily drudge
From eight till six, to earn myself a living.
The folks that can lie in: I do not grudge
Their comfy slumber, since I feel forgiving
For it's not long till my next holidays
When I, like them, can laze and laze and laze.
Comments about Not Grudging The Slumberers by C Richard Miles
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You