Half-pint harp

The central heating pipes play me a merry tune as I stare out of the window with my eyes set on the moon and I know she knows that I think of her wondering where she goes when the sun decides to show its face.

getting up is such a palaver
when I’d rather stay in bed
but
shake a leg and move
get into the groove
and know
it’s not a rut.

Friday
anything but.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.