I do not like thee, 8am
'I do not like thee!' shouts this femme.
I did not like 2, 4 or 6
Nor 1am, thrown in the mix.
I do not like your dull grey light,
I'd much prefer the dark of night.
Under my feet, the tiles are cold
My aching back makes me feel old.
Last night's 'sleep' has left me weary
My eyes make all the world seem bleary.
The house is still, and quiet too
But soon it will resemble a zoo,
The older kids will start to stir
The heating will begin to whirr,
The sound of breakfast cereal's pour,
The crunch of it upon my floor.
The smiled requests for one more drink
While dishes pile up in my sink.
Yes, this is just a simple day,
I would not have another way,
But couldn't its beginning wait?
At least 'till maybe half past eight?
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