The sun that creeps in silently
Onto my sleeping eyes
Is not my only indication
That it is time to rise
With quiet mews and sandpaper licks
Ian the cat tells me to wake
He jumps on my back and paws at me
Persistent despite my shakes
His whiskers tickle my face
Under covers I attempt to hide
Only when I stand awake
Will my alarm clock be satisfied
Just a goofy little poem about what I experience. Every. Single. Morning.
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