Mondays are just young Fridays

   Another season: it dawns on you
each spring. Early morning
thoughts are bewildering.
   Each morning you wake, as you
have done so many times before.
A cumulative lifetime of
waking up once more. Mornings,
some anyway, you spring up from
your cozy bed, refreshed, anxious
to encounter plans you have made
for the day ahead.
   Majority of days it is off to work;
‘got to make a living’, many times
it has been said, but what will you
make of this day?      Of yourself?
   What can be constructed from a
momentary lapse of reason, the
dreams ignored, pursuits or plans
forgotten in the morning haze?
   What will you accomplish in this
one of many days? What can you
get done once you get going?

04/04/2022                                                    j.g.l.

April is Poetry Month

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