It will soon be later

 
 
I supposed it a Thursday
and a Thursday it be,
I
should have supposed
Christmas
under the tree.
 
In the shallows of an Autumn morn
where the silver light of day is spawned
and the golden cries of childhood born,
I am torn out of my sleep.
 
And nothing can protect me from
those that would direct me into
darkness and despair,
 
I supposed it was a Thursday,
but I really do not care.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.