In the Wee Hours of the Morning

A poem from my insomnia

It’s that time again The night is coming to an end Another sleepless night It is 4am as I jot these words Snuggled up in a warm fuzzy cloth My room is dimly lit Gentle drops of trickling rain compliment the sweet melody that oozes out of my stereo Sinatra is singing Flying Me to the Moon “Let me see what spring is like in Jupiter and Mars” Wouldn’t that be a joyous trip? Any place would do if it means not having to brave another day of Yorkshire rain Some days it’s snow but always foul Yet my mood does not replicate sorrow skies A cheerful glee brings a smile to my face An unexpected delight The type that makes you appreciate having life Makes you count your blessings and recollect your worth There’s a certain calm in the air The night will soon turn to morning But at this moment, peace persists This precious period right before the city wakes Sinatra is now singing That’s Life I chuckle as it resembles my mood My alarm rings I guess it’s time to brew the days first coffee