Thursday 20 December 2012

THE SLOTHFUL SUN RELUCTANTLY RISES




The Slothful Sun Reluctantly Rises

 
The slothful sun reluctantly rises
Behind the curtain of a distant copse,
Dragged disconsolately (unlike me)
From its warm horizon bed;
In no hurry, it would seem,
To face the frosty air.
And in the west, the waning moon,
Loath to leave her night-time silver sprinklings
To the unkindness of the dawn,
Outstays her welcome as, yet again,
She meets the cold mundanity of morning
And her glory fades before the brutal rays.
But, roaming once more across the homely sky,
Reanimated rooks rejoice.
 
 
 
 

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I think you may be the first poet to use the word mundanity. TSSRR captures well the mood of a person who occasionally hits the alarm clock snooze button for time three and makes deals with the gods of time four.

BM

Pete Thompson said...

Hahahah! I've always been an early riser and, in winter at least, I usually beat the dawn.