Sunday Morning

It's 6 AM on a Sunday morn.
The furnace came on, once again.
I hear a noisy splatter
of a cold, falling rain.
I sit here writing, of what
I never know,
for 3 hours of sleep in not enough
to rest this aged body of mine.
Perhaps I just need to wonder,
about the way our life, went away.
Never to return, at least not today.