There are morning birds singing their
fragmentary tunes in honey-sweet
tones outside my window. The dim
blue light stumbles in, like an old blind man,
The weekend wakes without a yawn
as someone, somewhere, mows a lawn.
The spaniel in the yard next door
has barked at nothing since the dawn.
I stare at the stars, and the bee-like
clockwork of the ever-busy city,
and they gaze back in placid hostility,
telling me two things - telling
It's quiet now.
The candle's out and
every silver lining has a cloud.
The flower's been plucked and
Floating in a silver sea;
The sparkling waves shift silently
Beneath the gaze of shining stars
And silken clouds that clad the moon.