Bob Reader

Honest Horsemanship for all disciplines

                                THE MORNING POEM


I woke early one morning

The Earth lay cool and still

When suddenly a tiny bird

Perched on my window sill



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 f…..g head.


 I am not a morning person !