Monday with the blues

“It usually happens, on Mondays, the blues, Monday blues” Gun Roswell

Monday with the blues

Looking out the window

Window, with a big frame

Frame, so large and pointing to the yard

Yard, between the big houses

Houses, which are built so tightly

Tightly, that you can hardly squeeze

Squeeze your tiny self, between the buildings

Buildings which are forever growing taller

Taller, while me, myself, am growing smaller

Smaller, but not that of my dreams

Dreams, of the wide open sea

Sea, with all the shades of blues and greens

Greens, like the forest hardly ever seen

Seen only, in my, eternal dreams

Dreams, so big, it makes me think

Think, if I will ever be able to see

See the true forest of green or even the wide sea

Sea, where the blues are so cool

Cool as the bluest of skies above

Above he wide open calm ocean

Ocean, which will be never ending

Ending only, if I stop, dreaming