A distant night bird mocks the sun. I wake as I have always done, To freshly scented sycamore And cold bare feet on hardwood floor. My steaming coffee warms my face I'm disappointed in the taste. But there's a peace the early brings The morning world of growing things.
I feel the moments hurry on It was today, it's died away, And now it is forever gone. And I will drink my coffee slow And I will watch my shadow grow And disappear in firelight And sleep alone again tonight.