The modesty of the morning fades,

As 'God's children' rise,

To make their unruly raids,

On my expected surprise.

The morning trees shadow,

Dapples the upright brick,

Of the houses on the row,

This all makes me sick.

Now moving onto franchised coffee,

The usual types are going about theirbusiness,

An old lady sits across from me,

Ignoring the coffee machine's pitchedhiss.

The glorious mundane,

Is how I shall reach fame,

'All people around me are the same'

I will readily claim.