Burgundy Morning
Burgundy morning, too early for drinking, no one tells me what to do;
I see your face in that half-empty bottle, purple reflections of you;
Burgundy morning says goodbye to moonlight, opening doors on the dawn;
Lavender curtains you bought for the window, keep out the light when they’re drawn.
Burgundy morning, the neighbors are noisy, wives kissing husbands goodbye;
‘Wonder what they say about me behind me, they think I don’t even try;
Too young for pity and too old for quitting, ‘guess I’ll write you one more time;
‘Almost ten-thirty, the mailman is missing—service like that is a crime.
Burgundy morning, some children are playing baseball right next to our yard;
I hope they’re careful and watch where they’re throwing, don’t hit that ball too damned hard;
I should be selling this house and be moving no one would miss me that’s right;
Maybe if I just re-read your last letter, I’d see things in a new light.
Burgundy morning, and I’m feeling drowsy, wine reaching up to my brain;
I should be with you, but you kept it secret, making sure I would remain;
Noise in the street won’t keep me from my sleeping, sirens and whistles they scream;
Burgundy morning becomes afternoon and I only hope I won’t dream.
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