When I'm Awfully Low

There are some days you don't get out of bed,
When it is better to just cuddle there,
A heap of bedclothes piled up to your head,
And to deny that there is anywhere
You ought to be besides curled in the covers,
Cozy and warm inside the fort of sheets.
The spectre of those days forever hovers
Over a day like this, when instinct bleats
That such retreat from life should be desired,
But duty calls. Oh, I am glad to say
That though I am regrettably required
To still get up and face the awful day,
I carry in my heart the memory
Of days spent in my bed more comfortably.