Amused Disuse

Waking, realizing dawn was past Hearing a background noise Some what like a wet tin whistle Child blown in a futile attempt at a note “What kind of bird is that?” “A red winged blackbird” She rose and left me lying abed Wondering what else she lived That I missed so easily so busily So lazily dependent on her living So easily a part of it As she is so much of mine The smell of grinding coffee Led me down the stairs Some where there’s a poem To pen on this awakening To mild frustrated fear What powers of observation am I Losing to disuse Habits help to pass the time before The coffee kicks life up a bit Amusing to the muse