The sun comes up Slow to wake On this day of rest The pungent odour Of regurgitated dinner And a pile of soiled linen In the hall Next to the love That makes the smell Bearable.
There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.