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 fucking head.


I'm not a morning person.