Daily, something out of ordinary
Feels like unfolding and taking in the same scenery
Still, it's replenishing with a thought of gratitude on a dry Sunday
So, how come, you say that it's "just a day called mundane"
Life is a fruition of what we contain
The plan remains the same if the perception doesn't change
We don't want to waver and stick to the same
So, how come, you say that it's "just a day called mundane"
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.