morning morning

 morning morning 

that shrub and that shrub and that tree there

waiting every morning for me in my chair

and at this time of the year not much

happens as such

we are all waiting for spring’s gentle touch

and the doggerel wood if it only could

bark the wind clean of that last leaf to leave

and the cold and the snow we never believe

will ever vacate the thorns by the gate

or the wrinkles on the kale growing ever so late

a movement of breeze in the trees of my mind

snoozing gently and if you’ll be so very kind

to fill up my cup with another hot tea

and leave this morning to nature and to me

this moment as precious as anything wise

when the winter on its knees is starting to rise

to the occasion of an occasional thought divine

for you see this morning belongs to me it is mine

so a deep breath and a slow nod to it all

as i draw around me this woollen welsh shawl

here comes the visitor cat entering left stage

but that is a story for another morning page