Mad man’s morn!

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It is a bright morn
I wake with a yawn
Extending to a moan
Alas! Am on the lawn!
I make a furtive glance
Round the expanse
Looking for a chance
To know if it’s France!
There I see a person
Who is clumsily don
With a small phone
Walking among the corn
I gave him a kick
That made him weak
And later more sick
Laying like a pick
Though crazy and mad
My heart becomes mild
But with no pity now I killed
And left him on the field
Coz, well…I am mad!