Cool and Crisp
It is cool and crisp this morning.
The moon is still on high
while hanging low
is a peachish glow
as birds sing lullaby.
The skin is tickled with shivers,
like gently biting pups
that wrestle and play
to ring in the day
and wake their masters up.
To stretch is a sovereign pleasure;
the linen feels like silk.
But now we must rise
and set flame to fry,
to have bacon and eggs with milk.
It is cool and crisp this morning.
Outside is the ball of the moon,
and hope is high,
love without lie,
and the sun will be rising soon.
