Missing Some Zees, on a Weekday Morning

Whose hell this is, I think I know,
He’s tortured me before and so,
I will not let him catch me here
Sleeping late, so off I go.

My small family must think it queer
For me to rise with dawn not near
But I know I dare not be late
As we approach the end of year.

My pounding steps must make them quake
But pretty soon they’re all awake.
They know that I would rather sleep
Than do these tasks I undertake.

But I have a mission to complete
And notes to write, and people meet!
And notes to write, and people meet!
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* Forgive me Robert, for the grave disservice!

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