Bucking The Rhythms Again

Puff, pant and gasp, my will doth sap,
And you say do another lap!
Donít kid so, please, youíre talking crap,
And mornings arenít for me.

The evening run is always tough,
But good, refreshing, never rough,
The afternoon runís quite enough,
But morningís arenít for me.

Leave me to play, to write, to read,
This ultra-fit kick I donít need,
Alternate nights wonít make me bleed,
But mornings arenít for me.

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