Sunlight Slipping Through the Cracks
That small keyhole of morning sifts through the nighttime sky,
casts an orange shadow upon drawn curtains,
hear the birds chirping and hear the grasshopper’s cry,
the moon is dipping and the sun feels shy.
Alarm clocks have not yet sounded,
eyes are still heavy with sleep,
new corners of the bed have yet been founded,
hours left to snooze remain uncounted.
Orange dissolves into a subtle gold,
fresh grass blades shining with dew,
the sun once again feels bold,
squirrels peek out of their wooded folds.
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