Morning Not Mourning

(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)


When morning comes, I can’t hold on to my dreams, or get them back.

Why write a dumb little poem like this? Honestly, as I woke up, I was trying to come up with an analogy for that frustrating time of morning when dreamworld yields to waking day. You’ve made it through your slice of watermelon, and all that’s left now is rind.

(background image adapted from one by NoName_13 on Pixabay)

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