The toast was not burnt I swear.
The cream was fresh and chilled.
The rosè was a vintage fine.
And no goblets were broke or spilled.
Somehow I just woke grumpy.
From my king size goose down bed.
I probably owe apologies.
For something or other I said.
Sometimes there’s no reason.
For my less than kind retorts.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t love or care.
It just means I’m out of sorts.