This very dull day is glum indeed,

Birds that sing but don’t forget

The weeds!

Those damned roots that infest and

Overpower,

The same godforsaken creatures

That kill all my flowers,

And even flowers aren’t so

Wonderful if you look close

Enough,

Thorns atop thorns with a keen edge,

So rough,

So ragged just like this day, yes,

This glum morning,

My body shivers from the morning

Cold,

Thank you _so much_ Mother Nature!

For making this day so very

Wonderful,

‘Tis truly a treasure to behold…

What is a “sheet of morning dew”

To some,

Is a “soppy mess of grass” to me,

My finger tips have now gone

Numb,

None of this is as captivating as

Some make it out to seem,

Hills that writers _portray_

As lush and green,

When they really are just mounds

Of soil and grayish-greenish

Half spheres,

“Oh, how magnificent!”

What do you mean?

Have you seen nothing, can

You not hear?

I’ll not say—I’ll not _mean _when

I say something is good, if it

Is really not,

Call me negative, but I just

Give things a different sort

Of thought,

Ah, look, another to add to

The list!

My cinnamon tea is no

Longer hot,

And the threads to my dress

Are far too weak, too thin,

What is this place I live in!

Oce more, flowers,

Withering if you look close

Enough,

Never ending winters that

Keep me in my house, stuck,

Stuck like how snowflakes

Stick to my windows and make

My house colder,

Sure, I may be crabby, but it’s not

Because I’m getting older,

It’s because of _perfect_ days

Like this, not perfect at all,

Being woken by selfish roosters

And their incessant call!

Trees, if you could even call them

That,

Naked branches and leaves that

Cover every inch of my yard,

And that fat rat who eats away at

My yarn,

Yes, thank you Mother Nature,

For such a bright day full of

Rot,

I can see you gave it a

Sufficient amount thought.