In the morning I come to be
In my joyous place laughing, happy
All as it should be.
As a mourning dove gives it’s plaintive call
Cars pass knowing nothing of my life
Not at all.
Birds sing, squirrels jump from branch to branch
On the hunt for the perfect breakfast,
Flowers bloom, waving petals in a quiet breeze
While a fly buzzes, irritating for sure
But still a life that lives, that breathes.
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018