Sunday; 8:00am

The carpet upon the floor is dirty,

Sexton has not done his job efficient,

Coffee steaming, oh it’s much too early,

A bit more sleep would have been sufficient.

 

Hair matted—oh, gosh! my socks do not match,

Too late now, it was planned if someone asks,

Wishing that I had called for a fair catch,

So that I could just be done with these tasks.

 

Yawning now.  My eyes desire to close.

A day to rest, is that too much to want?

Of course it is.  There is no time to doze.

Stomach growls—really wanting a croissant.

 

Sitting down in the chair, no kids show up,

Could have slept for another hour.  Yup.

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