A cold summer morning, and the sun's yet up.
A new week of writing, and I've drained my cup.
The caffeine is flowing; the heart's begun to beat.
I don't know where I'm going
I wonder who I'll meet.
Every day you try again
You only can do what you can
Such is the fate of every man
A warm breakfast's waiting, and it's time to eat.
It's time to stop my writing and find my seat.
But I'm always dreaming, and that is writing too.
The sunlight soon is streaming;
I must take the cue.
Tale Told 