Alas, 'tis o'dark thirty and the
gift of rest has yet been given
moi . . .
I lay here, watching the temps
slip down and down. 0.1° No!
Scary, and most likely frozen
pipes. Oh well, 'tis Mr. Winter's
time after all!
Mind journeys down memory
lane; so wish it wouldn't! Bad
times and good, naughty and
nice, yet Santa never comes.
When sleep finally shows its
hand, I am assailed with yet
another kind of dark. So hate
me the mares of the night.
Finally awakening a couple
of hours later, I find myself
exhausted and half broken.
Then my guy wishes me a
happy day and asks if I'd like
pancakes in bed on the morrow
to celebrate Valentine's Day.
That would be the light of day
peeking its heart up after such
a difficult night . . .
. . . blessed be!
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