I open myne eyes and break away fro’ some private dreamings
An’ I let th’ coulde air fill me lungs and check th’ sky fo’ signs o’ weather.
Alas, I let slip th’ quilt an’
feel the coldness dance upon me skin.
Thence I step into th’ world, and
leave me sleepy room behind me,
Feel coulde skin upon th’ floor planks.
Me eyelids still weightweary so I
Brew th’ coffee in th’ silence of the house.
Outside a murder of crows is making noisy mischief.
White frost has settled on the roof tops, and
The coffee seems to take away the coulden bite.
The wee pup is sniffing the floor for some hidden kitchen treasure,
The lady is still sleeping, trying to force upon herself
another moment of solace and of rest.
I’m waiting for the feel of the hammer in me hand an’
Thankful for the seeds of my creations,
To be resting on some cozy mantle.