As the day grows darker,
The clouds begin to group,
The sky becomes all mottled,
A stormy, rainy soup.
The grounds are icy trappings,
The air so bitter cold,
You wear about a thousand layers,
Cloth like another mould.
You wish for nothing greater,
Than another day in bed,
Instead you've got to be somewhere,
So up you get instead.
Inside you a track's playing,
Uplifting, beating loud,
You think 'YES I CAN DO THIS!'
Ignore the icy shroud.
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@HeatherAnne
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