The mornings are hard

The mornings are hard, are they not?

Waking up I have to meet the day

Never does it greet me back, or so I thought

Until my alarm clock told me to go away

“Get more sleep!” it shouted, and I complied

I slept until dinner called from the table

But the food left me hungrier; so I sighed

And my thoughts flew up onto the gable

I asked them quite politely, with a please

Would you please return, good thoughts of mine

But they refused and made outlandish decrees

Such as “Wasteland!” and “O My Darling, Clementine!”

Eventually I wrestled them to the floor

Took a shower, brushed teeth, and I forgot

To reset my alarm clock once more

The mornings are hard, are they not?