It’s too early in the morning
For this much learning
I’m not at the races
Nothing is sinking in
Empty books scattered everywhere
A song begins to play in my head
And I must remember the start of it
This room could do with a hoover
Saturday night beckons
My tummy rumbles
But not for learning
I open my window
And the heat kisses my cheek
I think of a beer garden
I hear sounds of the Luas
As it ding dongs past
The man across the road
Is he painting his house to match his hair?
A child drops an ice-cream cone
Soon to become a crows breakfast
In a corner a spider
Hides away from morning light
My thoughts are of home