I think that I shall never spy.
A poem lovely as a Sunday night.
Then Monday comes along to test.
The good intentions in my head.
Got a list of things to do today.
But all I can think to do is pray…
For the patience not to kill these folks.
Calm down. It was only (sort of) a joke.
It’s not like I’m totally crazed.
(I’ve got too much to do today.)
I suppose that I should just be grateful.
It’s only Mondays that feel this hateful.