A Ditty For Dawn.

A Ditty For Dawn.

Morning spreads

the yoke

of an egg

just beyond

the edge of forever,

begging me to dance

in the sun's blessed warmth

while humming whatever.

Birds perch

in mimed poses

each a ruffled

feathered blob

unimpressed at my song.

Duty calls

but I ignore its

obligatory pleas,

as I collapse on the hammock.

There I repose,

truly delighted with the gleams

cast in diamond-like sparkles

of morning dew

catching rays

in the bends of green grass.

Perhaps I shall

go nowhere fast.


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