Не новое, но Вечное
MORNING POEM
I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still
When suddenly a tiny bird
Perched on my windowsill.
He sang a song, so lovely
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles
Began to slip away.
He sang of far-off places
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.
I stirred beneath the covers
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window
And crushed his stupid head.
I am not a morning person.
Author Unknown.