Morning poem

I woke one morning, the earth lay cool and still
When suddenly a tiny bird perched on my window sill he sang a song so lovely so carefree and gay, that slowly all my troubles began to slip away. He sang of far off places of laughter and of fun, It seemed his very singing brought up the morning sun. I stirred beneath the covers and crept slowly out of bed. Then gently closed the window and crushed his fucking head Im not a morning person.

--Author Unknown