I like the morning
When the rest of the world is still sleeping
Oblivious to the sun rising
Deaf to the sound of kettle whistling
Or the smell of toast burning
It was time for pondering
Lips gently lifting
At the sound of kettle screeching.
The rain would be pouring
And the rest of the world would still be curling
I would be yawning
Watching the smoke from my coffee mug drifting
Laundry would still be hanging
Window panes witnessing the raindrops running.
During the morning
I wouldn’t be mourning
I wouldn’t be crying
There were no toxic musings
Or even words leaving my head aching
There is just me sitting
On a leather couch smiling
My warm cup of coffee with its smoke wafting.