My Butt Is Freezing Cold

The sun is bright

the sky is blue

the pond is wet

and my butt is cold.

Yeah, maybe the ducks are cool

but all I hear is squaking

slashing up a silent morning.

Yeah the leaves are fun

and crunchable

but all I see are dead tree's.

Mornings are not meant for pretty poems.

They're meant for sleep.

I waited an hour with a freezing butt

all for a bright glare in my face

and still a freezing butt.

Maybe I'm just not feeling it today.

Or maybe I just suck at writing.

Either way

a pretty poem

is not what you'll find on this blog today.

All you get is some pessimistic words

on what should have been beautiful

and a few complaints on how my butt is freezing cold.