In the stillness of an early morning,
When no one else has risen,
It seems impossible we could be mourning
Losses when there’s so much we’ve been given.
These early mornings are never dull,
My fingers flying across this keyboard,
And every sip of tea is meaningful
When I’m alone with a pencil sword.
In time, inspiration will suddenly strike,
And I’ll abandon my misty day dreams
To turn back to my paper with a hopeful smile,
And write castles in the air by reams.
Sometimes the silence is too good to be true:
Alarms go off, the coffee is ready,
Groggy good mornings, exiting of rooms,
And the morning is up, it’s time for the day.