Morning
Be still.
Don't satisfy the urge
To move until
The energy of the mind
Has been encouraged.
A rendezvous
With the pillow on my bed;
A quartet, too,
Of soft instruments playing in my head.
Cushioned by a cloud
So I don't hit the floor.
No interruptions are allowed,
And I'm not answering the door.
I'm taken away to dreams
Of prettier times
And things
That flow even without rhymes.
But, then I'm woken up,
And I see that you're not by me.
Still, I see the sun.
I can still behold the morning gallantry.
Copyright © Josey Portas | Year Posted 2007
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