Mornings are the hardest
And yet, the best
For the sunrise that wakes the dog
Who comes to peer into your bassinet
And then curl her impossible body
Into a fist of protection on our bed.
The music of your mornings
Is the winter wind chime
And the solemn recitation of world news,
Coffeepot steam and natural light.
Morning is when I bask
In the rareness of you;
Morning is the victory of the sun
Over the weariness of your first weeks.
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