there's beauty in the bog and grog
the dream still recent, eyes afog
the fuzzy sleep-filled break from Nod
the consciousness home from abroad
a dawn, a day to be unveiled
the yesterdays all long since sailed
the memories of hours late
the unknown that awaits its fate
the birds that sing so fucking loud
the golden sun obscured by cloud(s)
the time it takes to stand up straight
I'm telling you,
each morning's great
Well. That certainly took a turn.
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