morning

Morning The morning fog lifts like a veil: a slow lightening of the night. She can just make out, through the haze, an outline of a tree - another, and another - And soon a forest appears, and she hears a bird peeping and she sees a skeleton boat anchored just off the north of the island And the pirate is screaming “She’ll be right matey!” “Down with the hoist.” It’s going to be a sunny day, A good day for washing.