Her Morning

The morning light strikes my window,
Breaking through like an after rain bow,
And fills the room.

Pries my eyelids open,
Intrudes on my dream unspoken,
And casts away its gloom.

She is up, as usual,
With her cheery perusal,
Sweeping out with broom.

The cobwebs of a nighttime,
Spent in dreams without rhyme,
Music without tune.

Singing softly while she works,
Working out the kinks and quirks,
Of sleep ended way too soon.

Showering me with kisses,
All hits and no misses,
She pulls me to my seat.

Dresses me with passion,
All the rage and fashion,
That brings me to my feet.

Drops me in my chair with love,
A gentle tuck, a gentle shove.
Makes me feel so neat.

Makes me breakfast with a song,
Fills me up for all day long.
Black coffee oh so sweet.

Combs my hair, washes my face.
Hot shave back to human race.
Her fingers are a special treat.

Accompanying me to the door,
Blows me kisses as before.
Ending her no small feat.

I crank it up and drive away.
While she begins her other day.
Until, once again in evening, we meet.

Beh with a pear

In the Morning

Copyright 2002 © Ronald W. Hull



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