Poem 30: A Sunday Morning

The skies, 

The shade of the faintest pink, 

You wake up from your sleep, 

You sit up and open the curtains, 

Those clouds, make you think, 

Aren't we lucky to live on Earth? 

I wonder if the rarest piece of Earth, 

Was sold at an auction, 

How much would it be worth? 

The oldest, surviving bar of gold, 

The oldest on Earth, 

Everybody you know will be told, 

And it will be sold, 

For something, 

Not even Bill Gates could afford, 

Praise the lord, 

You wake up tomorrow like this. 

Then you have something else, 

On your mind, 

Which is rather important, 

Which you think is easy, 

But then realise it isn't, 

And get it over with, can't. 

You make a decision. 

"Should I make a coffee? 

Or should I lie in a little longer?" 

Your mind, 

It argues with itself, 

And then you would think, 

Nah, I'll just stay in my warm bed, 

And watch the clouds fly, 

Which I am amazed by, 

High in that pink sky, 

But soon, I will have to say, 

Goodbye, 

But soon replaced with blue, 

Like the ocean.