Monday Thief
As he wakes in acheand sweat,
a sun steals his
skin.
As each his limbs
refuse,
a habbit steals
his will.
As he checks his bedside
hour,
a worry steals
his toungue.
"Today is in labour
with tomorrow,
and I have nothing
done."
Poetry by Mathieu
Read 648 times
Written on 2006-10-16 at 16:44
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Amanda K |
