This poem is for Megan.
Monday Mornings, by Scott Kelly
The school day starts, as always, at 7:55.
The house quiets as I sit with you
and re-learn to be alive.
A plate of eggs, a cup of tea
enjoyed with unhurried pace,
oft' aren't enough to slow my soul
with it's tendencies to race.
A Sunday-preacher's sabbath
with the world at work outside,
some Mondays don't feel much like rest
in this struggle to abide.
"So much time spent for others,"
we're sometimes heard to fuss.
Still, let's thank God for Mondays,
these days He's made for us.