A rising sun traces the mountain's silhouette
It takes it time to perfect the lustrous outline
A bird raises its head from under its wing
And debates whether to wake, rise and shine
Every plant and flower are slowly transforming
Gently easing into the day forming ahead
Maybe they will bloom or perhaps fall to earth
Either outcome is possible, none quite preferred
But between arching sky and the solid earth
There seems to be a state of great confusion
Well, it has been determined that it is Monday
And beings of intelligence are out in profusion
They need to go to work, and do so with angst
Not one among them are filled with happiness
And they struggle and moan through the day
And defying natural instincts, court dreariness
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