I’m wide awake at 3 in the morning,
Listening to Dean Lewis.
Out on the streets a pack of dogs decides it’s the perfect time to start howling.
I watch them from the window,
Some six or seven snouts up in the air,
Occasionally hindred by the smell of bread that I throw out to them,
I realize I can watch the sky go from a dark blue to a bright light today,
A sultry summer morning,
The mercury keeps rising throughout the day.
I think it’s time to go water my plants,
See my babies bloom into yellow and purple delights,
Click a few pictures of how ravishing they appear against the light.
I can hear the birds sing,
I had forgotten if they still did that.
From the depths of my memories arise ghosts of my younger childhood days,
When the little birdies sang in joy all morning,
And trees swayed to their music.
After a long time I’m hearing the cockoo sing aloud,
I wish my garden came to life,
I wish I would pick the shovel and get to work.
Well it’s sunday after all!
I’ve been waiting for the maddening week to stop.