The unbearable sadness of a late morning in winter

I can hear the birds sing,
Even as it is late in the morning
The trees still be shrouded in mist
And the sun would be shining through
Even as my windows are still shut

The light filters through the glass
Bringing in a slight warmth
My feet are paining, legs weary,
eyes on fire
And I can feel that shard
of a casual, uncharitable thought
Lodged firmly in the heart

Wish I could shut out the light
I may live better with the shadows,
but there are no curtains, on my windows.