Morning dove through the branches,
slick were its clouded feathers;
blemished with the distant sun.
its song of broken proportions wakes me.
Its eyes of burnt tidepools drag me in.
Rolling over, I tell the messenger,
“Just 5 more minutes Morning.”
"A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure." ~Charlie Chaplin