The Morning Prayer I Miss

I miss the sweet sweet morning prayer I used to say, In the lights of early morn, in the darkness of losing night. In that surrealistic atmosphere I used to pray, To the One who possesses endless might. I used to make a society with my Lord; The only society where I was so happy. There used to be He and I and nobody else; He used to call me with affection and I used to respond. And I miss all that blissfull feelings Of early morning breeze, so tender, so sweet...... And the smell of morning sweat so honestly earned, And the pleasure of walking on the wide empty streets. Then coming back home with endless satisfection Of pride, of wisdom, of solitude. Then reading stories about witches and fairies, In such and atmosphere so close to the action! But now the morning prayer is never the same, Its just aformality of going into the busy day (that lies ahead). Then going into the breakfast so testlessly cooked, With smashed potatos and mushrooms and thick pieces of bread