poem

So I wake at 530am on the first day of a business trip with a poem (of all things) half-formed in my head and screaming to be written down.  Huh.  Well, it's here.  Might as well deal with it.

The sun won't look at you any more.
She buries her head in the fluffy white clouds
and all the cheerful calls of the birds
and industrious buzzing of the insects
will not draw her forth.

I envy her resolve.