Good morning

My bones, older now
can take the cold
No more.
I wake sore and stiff.
Angry with sleep
for leaving me bereft of rest.

He is an idle fellow
who no longer sees to his chores.
He does not wrap me
in the arms of night
but instead smothers me
with his weight.

Shoulders sore,
ribs beaten and bruised
I rise piss eyed and tired
to face the cold
which eats my bones.

– Dave Kavanagh

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