Poema by Anne

Today I was given another Monday morning.
Another morning to wiggle my toes and stretch my arms and
try to hide underneath the crunchy sheets that had been hanging outside
on the clothing line just yesterday.
I wanted to silence the alarm clock and snatch precious seconds for
oblivious rest:
Because I am sometimes afraid of the failures my Monday might bring--
the fear of every first year teacher.
Each day is a mystery; you try to control what you can--
But still,
You never know what awaits.
The mystery of Monday is why it's hard to get up in the mornings (sometimes)-- but hear it gets better.