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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.