It's too morning
And my bones creak in utter defiance.
My eyes the more evasive to light.
I won't wake up,
waking up I won't!
The outside too cold,
too morning for my bones' liking.
The crowing has gone on for a while now.
Cocks have crowed themselves hoarse.
Why crow themselves silly, less I care.
My feet crutch the blanket,
sealing off any cold gaps.
I defy the small hours.
My feet are revulsive of the cold floor.
Thinking of the cold grass,
the scorching dew,
my mind recoils into its folds.
my feet wince,
The blanket's warm wink even more irresistible.
You say early is best,
I say late is good rest.
Lazy you whisper,
Good! I howl.
Many are like me, you say,
few are the chosen; in this way.
A good rest is; Oh! how Heavenly.
Poems for Humanity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem