Sunday morning
The first misty birth of today’s morning
Brushes the smell of warm sun on the blanket’s edge.
A distant feathered cry of elation invades the mind’s smoky eye.
I wait.
I do not open my eyes and command the end of floating
Between the sheets in this transformation in time.
It is still an addictive mystery,
The rare alone moment when nothing is demanded
And no one sings a song of need.
There is yet again the promise of new.
No footprints on the snow or sand.
No expectations not yet met.
It is another chance for a day of peaceful challenge.
(Post Script: I deny the existence of a Superbowl today.)
Lovely poem
ReplyDeleteLovely. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteI laid in bed like that this morning....probably because of how cold it is. I didn't even know who was playing in the Super Bowl, but I knew they'd be Prince at halftime.
ReplyDeleteThis was amazing Tabor! More poetry please!!!! I specifically married a man who is not a big sports fan...what superbowl?
ReplyDeleteGorgeous photo! What superbowl? LOL
ReplyDelete(I did see Prince)
These words are simply yummy --- and snuggly :)
ReplyDeleteWhat is a Superbowl???
Yet another Tabor desktop wallpaper. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteWhat is the "Superbowl" you speak of?
I don't know who played or who won. Nor do I care, obviously. :)