morning song: a poem

The house is quiet.

I can hear my own bare feet pad along the floor.

Think my own clear thoughts.

This quiet beginning
Can never be the way the day stays.

And that’s alright.

Bookends are what I prefer –

Quiet at the start
Quiet at the finish
Come What May in the middle

And the youngest daughter awakens.

Her hug still warm from her cozy sleep.

A bed-warmed hug is the sweetest start.

The sun is shining just warm enough to lure me outside to the deck

for morning words.

Rwanda tea with honey and cream
hot in my clutch.

Shine on, this beautiful morning.

O Beautiful Warmth.

The birds are trilling a chorus.

A melody of life.

(I don’t know what they’re saying
but if the @%$& dog would stop barking
I might secure some inner peace.)

_____________________________________