Sitting alone in a sunlit room

I gather my thoughts into a loom

Weaving possibilities, hopes, dream, & ambitions

Doing my best to avoid the feeling of impending doom & gloom

That so often overtakes me about noon

I do by my best to avoid it because it will be here soon

To tease me into hiding in my brain, and boy could it use a broom

So piled high with discarded thoughts like a scaring wound