that keep me in bed
longer than I intended,
that cry out for a little more comfort
than they have,
that won’t move forward,
hunkered in as they are
They are not me. Look,
I can get up,
I can throw off the blankets
and let the remains of dream
roll away.
I can claim the comfort
the little animal wanted —
I can swing myself
into the stirrups of the day.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 23, 2017
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