Her eyes in heaven, Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing and think it were not night.
Image by harold.lloyd
‘Tis Mondyay! Mondyay is here! The world rejoices. Holidays are thrown. Boys propose to girls they have admired from afar. Birds sing. Elephants trumpet. Kangaroos hop. That kid who pushed you over in the mud and called you names when you were seven rings up to apologise. Your parents send an email to let you know that Santa not existing? A lie. Really. Flowers look pinky and purply and glowy in the sun. Someone invents a never-ending fresh pot of coffee. Almond croissants are declared mandatory and free for every person at breakfast. Spam disappears. Pixar release a new movie every day forever and they stay just as good as they are now. Canon realise they made a clerical error and send me every L lens. And take them away from everyone else. I speak in airs as fresh as Shakespeare could pen / And bringeth all the goodneressness as and when. You know, that sort of thing. It is Mondyay, after all. Anything could happen!
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