Monday is wet leaves moaning
beneath my feet,
the pressure of too many moonless nights
falling on morning.
A solitary bird’s lament hovers
in a muffled fog.
A sad little light struggles
to pierce the gloom.
Monday is wet leaves moaning
beneath my feet,
the pressure of too many moonless nights
falling on morning.
A solitary bird’s lament hovers
in a muffled fog.
A sad little light struggles
to pierce the gloom.
The Word Rummager 
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