Poetica Spontenaium
Delight is turning your heavy head
from the dark side of the too wide bed
to see the careful thieving of dawn creeping and breaking
through verdant leaves and blinds left open.
watching tiny wrens toddle through the morning air
with nervous cheeps and awkward fumbling
Sniffing deep, from the belly, the hope of a new morning
Toes still curled in a delicious pocket of cozy,
The sky the only bearer of possible blues
Turning off the alarm clock. No buzz. No snooze.
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