Mornings, at Six

If you had a good night’s sleep, There is nothing welcomer Than the break of the dawn. To lie on bed, watching Eyes half-open, at the darkness Paling, leaves of the Jack And further away the Mango Filtering just enough light So that your eyes do not hurt.

There are always the birds. Sweet tweet of the Robin Sunbirds chirping, peering at flowers Cuckoos always so flustered, Plaintive, like mothers in kitchen Scurrying about in the morning And the omnipresent caws Of the crows – One will love even the crows On such a morning.

Mornings are always so cool. Bitterness of yesterdays, Burdens to carry today Bleakness of the future – For a gentle moment, all pains are gone As curtains flutter in the breeze And the strains of hymns waft in.

I hear the soft taps Of his nails As Tommy comes up And then the door is rudely pushed open As Sancho comes barging in, Ahead of his father. The wet slurps, soft whines And then the nuzzling on the ears - What could be a better way To begin a day?

The telephone rings – My love, to say hello.