I groaned upright from a long winter’s nap,
Snuggled beneath a great mountainous quilt.
My eyes glued shut, my mouth tasting like crap,
I stumbled down stairs that a sadist built.
Thus my day began in a treacle fog:
The body moving, but the mind asleep.
Though I’d slept like the proverbial log,
The log was in charge of driving this heap.
Somehow, I located my old tea pot,
And managed to measure some loose, black tea.
I blended the leaves with fresh water, hot,
And enjoyed the fragrance surrounding me:
The leaves’ bitterness, bergamot’s nosegay.
I awoke to a visit from Earl Grey!
Mick McKellar
April 2016
Some days, waking up means following your nose…
Mick
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