poem

I woke up 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 of 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.