Last night, as I slept, I kicked all the blankets to the floor so I'm trying to stay warm beneath the top sheet. I suppose that I could lean over the mattress edge and pull the blankets back onto the bed but it's Sunday morning and I don't want to acknowledge that the day has begun. I don't want to rise and make breakfast or sip coffee or read the daily news. So I'm just going to wrap myself tighter in this cocoon and pretend to sleep and pretend to sleep and pretend to sleep until maybe noon.
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Universality. This.
What a great poem to start the day—any day—Thanks, Sherman!