A poem that, in my head, it’s jazz

It’s Monday,

and you’re already done.

It’s Monday,

and you’ve had enough.

Four days

seem too much,

but you don’t know

what would they hide.

A shiny cold day

or a pleasant lunch.

It’s Monday,

what a bad start.

You’ve judged the week

before you’ve tried

to look for moments

that make worthy lifes.

They turn dark clouds

into bright smiles

as though lifejackets

of happy times.

Marvellous tiny stars

in a gloomy quiet sky.

Enjoy them all,

one by one.

Because it’s Monday,

and you’ve found your laugh.

It’s Monday,

and you’ve dared to dance.

It’s Monday,

one of a thousand-plus.