Morning Whistle Poem by Melanie Emikohe

It's like a prayer, but not;
whistling to god of morning
to heed. What is this fear,
but in fact, happy.

If you are shrouded behind
clouds that never fail me;
when I'd summon for it's
comfort, will you come?

There's an anxiety, scampering
like a loud clock, tik-tak;
watching him ebb, weaken
his grip to life.

How soon before I'd miss
pouring water in his coffee cup?
Not tomorrow or the day after
I beg. But gracious morning,

when will I cry?