Morning Light
The gift of dawn I often fight, hiding from the morning light
which silently slips beneath the darkest shades contrite.
Raising my lashes, caressing my cheek, warm on silken sheets,
a divine stretch arches my back, as the morning light I greet.
Footfall meet a sheepskin rug which cushions arch and searching toes,
arms over head, I stretch again, and find a blue terry-cloth robe.
Down miss matched stairs I tread with care to the purr of Smokey cat,
tuna for him, tea for me, a friendly cuddle and a tete-a-tete.
Then out I go, onto the back porch, to an ancient wooden chair,
to welcome the day watching morning birds in the summer air.
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