I watch the morning sky turn bright
and full leaf trees welcoming light.
This is the kind of perfect day
that calls to all for frolic and play.
I think of crowds heeding that call,
and just don’t want to deal with it all.
By staying in, what’s to regret,
fond memories I may forget?
In the bitter cold of December,
which summer days will I remember?
If I turn in, and skip the fun,
than today is not likely one.
I could focus on my chores,
or just sit until I get bored.
Is it bad to get my way
and have just one, fully-wasted-day?
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Time Wasted.